Wednesday, April 29, 2009


It is very distracting to take cycle class when every time you add tension to your bike, it sounds like Yukon Cornelius.

I don't like therapy and have a bad attitude about it. The entertaining bit of this is that the therapist doesn't seem to have noticed yet. Does this mean he's not a great therapist or I'm a truly talented actress? (Given that he was busy making my children cry--perhaps boring them to tears?--I know what I think but we're going to give this the ole college try anyway, at least for a while.)

Thinking about weeding the flower beds the previous owners planted makes me feel weak and sleepy. I don't really know what all is a weed and what a welcome plant so I'm contemplating just spraying Round-Up on the majority of it and watching it wither. The only thing slowing me down is wanting one of the beds to be an herb garden and even I draw the line at planting edibles in a bed I've napalmed.

I ran yesterday for the first time in weeks. 4 miles. Not the best plan in the world. Apparently my neighbor saw me running and didn't even honk. She was probably afraid a loud and unexpected noise was likely to be the straw that broke the camel's back and caused me to have the coronary running always makes me look like I'm on the verge of anyway. I could have used a ride back to my house though!

Most of the bins of Christmas decorations in my basement fell over at some point between this morning and the last time I was in the storage side. I'm too lazy to check and see what all broke now but Christmas decorating could hold some sharp surprises this year. Wonder if this is Santa's way of telling me I'm already on the naughty list (as if that would be news).

I'm still playing hooky from the DMV despite driving on expired plates. The latest snafu in getting properly registered is that my insurance is still from Michigan. D. tells me we got new and improved sunny south cards, but I don't seem to have one. He also says that I can go to the DMV office, ask for their fax number and have proof of insurance faxed to them. But the DMV is a soul destroying place I choose not to frequent without all proper documentation. No need to give the friendly succubi who work there any provocation. Besides, it'll be more fun to make D. wade through all the unfiled paperwork to find my card (see why I am in no danger of getting off Santa's naughty list any time soon?).

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