Not really any excuses except that I've been busy writing, I mean, REALLY writing, not this ceaseless wanking on a computer that I've been calling writing, but which has really been just hearing myself talk. Onscreen. No, I've actually been working at something tangible, God help me, but I'm not going to tell you what it is until I'm actually done it, because I always talk about what I'm doing before I finish anything, and then I don't, and then I wonder why nobody takes me seriously anymore. Please believe me, it's better than that last sentence.
Anyhoo, that's what I've been up to, aside from injuring myself (pinched nerve in neck, causing sciatic like agony in upper torso and down right arm, for which I've been under doc's treatment and it seems to be finally working) from cricking my neck on my couch by reading Brideshead Revisited twisted around the wrong way, (not unlike how Waugh wrote it, so I don't see why I should suffer and he shouldn't. Oh wait. He's dead. But anyway, I digress...) which is obviously against the rules, and therefore I will never attempt to read ever again. Not on that couch anyway.
This is my slothful year, when I now have a paunch, pot-belly, spare-tire, whatever you want to call it, and can't fit into half of my clothes because I finally got too fat to wear them. I weigh 185 lbs., I sneaked a peek on Stephanie's hyper-alert-aware scale that doesn't lie, and it said that's what I was. I much prefer metric. It said I was only 23 kilos, which is much kinder on the dillusionary mind. Now I realize my life has taken a turn for the unexpected. My once fabled ferret-like metabolism has all but failed me, I can tear jeans open with my ass and I'm starting to sound like Bridget Jones, by complaining about said ass. And to think I used to laugh at people who fretted about their weight. "Poor narcissistic little drips, " I would sneer, "Always fussing about their weight." How blind I was, how thoughtless. How was I to know that my 6'2", 145 lbs., figure and 28" waist would one day take off to Reno for a permanent divorce never to be heard from again, and leave me with something resembling an extra from CHEERS?
Oh, yes, I apologize now. The Karmic Jenny Craig has leaped up from the pits of Cellulite Hell and literally bitten me in the ass. And now I look like Lainie Kazan in drag. My own fault I agree. And I am paying penance now. Next month I am back to the gym. This week I got back on my bike, and I am writing again. Not however, at the same time. I am riding on my bike and I am writing, oh forget it. Don't be so pedantic. You know what I mean. The point is, I'm trying to get back in shape, mentally and physically. I'm finishing this damnable project, I'm going back to the gym (AGAIN!!) and I'm doing the Friends for Life Bike Rally again next year.
Oh yes, I've learned my lesson. I will be toned, taut, and in no (bad) pain at all. I will be, (as the kids say) hot. You see, I turn 40 next April 12th. That's right kids, 40. FOUR-OH. You heard it here first. And as God is my witness, by the time that dark day comes, even I'M going to want to fuck me.
So speaking of speaking optimistically.....wish me luck, kids.
