So
I've joined a gym.
I feel like I should be reading one of those pamphlets Dr. Hibbert has in his office on The Simpsons and gives to people when terrible shit happens to them to help them cope. “So You've Ruined Your Life” for Marge's pregnancy, and “So You're Going To Die” when Homer needs surgery. I joined a gym. !!! What the fuck? I always thought I'd have just settled for diabetes.
This self-improvement tip is really taking hold... well, I mean, slow down sailor, it's only day one. I've been to el gym-o ONE TIME, but I'm pretty certain I'm going to be going back on a regular basis – the target I've set for myself is three times a week; Monday, Thursday, Saturday. Right after cleaning, once I've already been forced out of bed in the early morning by the unfortunate imperative of "money = living", I'll be ready to push, pull, lift, bite, and juggle all manner of tough metal objects in the name of health and wellbeing.
Other news on the big-things front is that I'm most probably going to be leaving Baker St, the house that has served as my home for the last twelve months. Richie is pretty keen to find a place and Phil is looking like he might finally get his fucking worthless, shit-talking ass over to this beautiful city if we can just find a three bedroom house somewhere in the inner north to set up camp in. I'm going to browse some real estate sites as soon as I finish typing this blog entry.
Today is the first gorgeous day of what looks to be a phenomenal spring on the horizon; the sun is shining and the sky is crystal blue, no clouds, no wind, nothing. Year Two in Melbourne looks like it's going to be more of the same right now, and by more of the same, I mean more changes, more work, and more frenzied development. Every day, I repeat the same phrases to myself as I slowly work on building my body and mind, every day, every day, struggling, maintaining. Never forget.
“Food goes in here.”
Peace, Taco.
I feel like I should be reading one of those pamphlets Dr. Hibbert has in his office on The Simpsons and gives to people when terrible shit happens to them to help them cope. “So You've Ruined Your Life” for Marge's pregnancy, and “So You're Going To Die” when Homer needs surgery. I joined a gym. !!! What the fuck? I always thought I'd have just settled for diabetes.
This self-improvement tip is really taking hold... well, I mean, slow down sailor, it's only day one. I've been to el gym-o ONE TIME, but I'm pretty certain I'm going to be going back on a regular basis – the target I've set for myself is three times a week; Monday, Thursday, Saturday. Right after cleaning, once I've already been forced out of bed in the early morning by the unfortunate imperative of "money = living", I'll be ready to push, pull, lift, bite, and juggle all manner of tough metal objects in the name of health and wellbeing.
Other news on the big-things front is that I'm most probably going to be leaving Baker St, the house that has served as my home for the last twelve months. Richie is pretty keen to find a place and Phil is looking like he might finally get his fucking worthless, shit-talking ass over to this beautiful city if we can just find a three bedroom house somewhere in the inner north to set up camp in. I'm going to browse some real estate sites as soon as I finish typing this blog entry.
Today is the first gorgeous day of what looks to be a phenomenal spring on the horizon; the sun is shining and the sky is crystal blue, no clouds, no wind, nothing. Year Two in Melbourne looks like it's going to be more of the same right now, and by more of the same, I mean more changes, more work, and more frenzied development. Every day, I repeat the same phrases to myself as I slowly work on building my body and mind, every day, every day, struggling, maintaining. Never forget.
“Food goes in here.”
Peace, Taco.
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