Meanderings: July 8, 1999

Thursday,
July 8, 1999

Before we kick off tonight's entry, I should warn you that this probably won't be updated faithfully every day. I'll try to do that, don't get me wrong, but with the way work keeps cycling through these manic frenzied 12-hour-a-day periods every few months, there will be times when I drag my weary butt home, sit down and think, "Do I really want to sit in front of a monitor and type some more? Nah."

At which point I shall pour myself a large Bailey's on ice and go to sleep. Y'all know how it is.

So anyway, I started doing my Susan Powter Lean, Strong and Healthy workout again today. The lady may be slightly overemotional at times, but she does make a kick-ass exercise video. And why am I putting myself through aerobic hell, you may ask? Well, we have a wedding coming up in about three weeks, and while I have a splendorifous dress to wear, I bought it when I was a few sizes smaller. So it's time to start eating properly and sweating for 30 minutes every day until I can get back into the confection.

After that, there's NASFic and the first group meeting of the SFWA Musketeers (a group of SF and fantasy writers who like to dress up in mandelions and play with long pointy things), at which I am pretty much guaranteed to make a fool of myself as I haven't been able to get any epeé training yet (I promise, Captain, I WILL start by August). As I already know that's coming, I'd like to avoid any other unnecessary embarrassment by at least building up my calf muscles again. Arm muscles are another matter -- I can't build them up again because I never had them in the first place. Which means I'm working with the baby weights while I sit here typing one-handed, which feels extremely weird when I'm lifting with my dominant hand and typing with my other hand. No sign of rippling bulges yet, but it's early days -- besides which, I'm real tired of looking at myself and wondering when the baby is due.

And, for reasons that I don't completely understand, I had this very strange but quite erotic dream about Andrew, the Angel of Death in "Touched By An Angel" doing a striptease for me. I haven't the faintest idea what that's supposed to mean (and the first person who says "flirting with death?" gets this one-pound weight right through their monitor).

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