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Dream those dreams, scheme those schemes
So today I got off my ass and got down to 24 Hour and got my membership. (And swimming clothes. And this cute blue lock for my clothes locker. And these pretty purple carabiners for my purse. And a John Hughes movie but it was only $10.) And they charged me a pro-rated $1.25 for the rest of the month, so my membership started today.
And I said to myself Woo! I'm so cool. I'll just start my three-day-a-week plan tonight. Oh. Well, except for that I haven't brought a towel with me to work. Enh. No problem. I'll just put off starting until next week.
And I was well on my way down this road, casually humming to myself, when I caught me by the scruff of the neck and said Oh No I Don't. If I start putting this off again, I'll just keep doing it. I'm going to scurry on home after work, grab a towel, and I'm going to go to the club tonight!
But I said Awwwwww. That's a lot of work, and I'll be tired when I get home and can't I just go to bed?
And I thought a moment. Hell, I thought, that does sound like a lot of effort. Am I up to it? And I almost suckered me into it, but I caught on and put my foot down.
So I went home, nearly fell into excercise lethal conversations with Caredhel and Raven, but escaped their charming clutches, grabbed a towel, battered it until all the fine lint fuzz it had so carefully hoarded came off, and went on my way.
And, as I had been told, the deskcritter was nowhere to be seen, so I strolled on in without even flashing my provisional membership paper wad. I changed into the spiffy new trunks, and went out to the pool which, aside from a wiry Japanese elder for about thirty minutes, I had to myself.
I hopped into the end, three and a half feet marked, and noted that the pool did not seem as heated as they claimed it to be before kicking off down to the other side of the pool..... three and a half feet, marked. I was quietly and politely boggled, finally discovering that the pool has no deep end, but a deep middle. Even there it's only five and a half feet. This will be annoying. But not impossible. In general, doing laps on my back is the only way to avoid scraping my feet on the bottom of the pool. (How the hell do people do this?) Of course, it only took fifteen minutes before I was completely knackered, and so I climbed out to sit for five minutes in the whirlpool. (Thus avoiding the need to figure out how to spell 'jaccuzzi' this late at night.) Then I climbed back into the pool (DEFINITELY didn't feel heated now!) and did another ten or fifteen minutes before I decided that my muscles were gently hinting that I'd done quite enough and in the morning we'd have another talk. So I didn't make the hour I'd planned, but I'm confident that given time I shall.
And I was reminded that I'll have to bring a comb or brush or something if I want to wow the hotties as I leave, because my hair is all kinds of crazy right now.
However, I figure in the four weeks before I go to Vulkon I should be able to resculpt my body into a thing of beauty formed of brushed steel and designed by Boris Vallejo. Look out, geeks!
Oh, and also: I think I may have started the French Revolution at work tonight. Jakey? Plz plz plz bring the Montaigne book with you on Sunday. (:
And I said to myself Woo! I'm so cool. I'll just start my three-day-a-week plan tonight. Oh. Well, except for that I haven't brought a towel with me to work. Enh. No problem. I'll just put off starting until next week.
And I was well on my way down this road, casually humming to myself, when I caught me by the scruff of the neck and said Oh No I Don't. If I start putting this off again, I'll just keep doing it. I'm going to scurry on home after work, grab a towel, and I'm going to go to the club tonight!
But I said Awwwwww. That's a lot of work, and I'll be tired when I get home and can't I just go to bed?
And I thought a moment. Hell, I thought, that does sound like a lot of effort. Am I up to it? And I almost suckered me into it, but I caught on and put my foot down.
So I went home, nearly fell into excercise lethal conversations with Caredhel and Raven, but escaped their charming clutches, grabbed a towel, battered it until all the fine lint fuzz it had so carefully hoarded came off, and went on my way.
And, as I had been told, the deskcritter was nowhere to be seen, so I strolled on in without even flashing my provisional membership paper wad. I changed into the spiffy new trunks, and went out to the pool which, aside from a wiry Japanese elder for about thirty minutes, I had to myself.
I hopped into the end, three and a half feet marked, and noted that the pool did not seem as heated as they claimed it to be before kicking off down to the other side of the pool..... three and a half feet, marked. I was quietly and politely boggled, finally discovering that the pool has no deep end, but a deep middle. Even there it's only five and a half feet. This will be annoying. But not impossible. In general, doing laps on my back is the only way to avoid scraping my feet on the bottom of the pool. (How the hell do people do this?) Of course, it only took fifteen minutes before I was completely knackered, and so I climbed out to sit for five minutes in the whirlpool. (Thus avoiding the need to figure out how to spell 'jaccuzzi' this late at night.) Then I climbed back into the pool (DEFINITELY didn't feel heated now!) and did another ten or fifteen minutes before I decided that my muscles were gently hinting that I'd done quite enough and in the morning we'd have another talk. So I didn't make the hour I'd planned, but I'm confident that given time I shall.
And I was reminded that I'll have to bring a comb or brush or something if I want to wow the hotties as I leave, because my hair is all kinds of crazy right now.
However, I figure in the four weeks before I go to Vulkon I should be able to resculpt my body into a thing of beauty formed of brushed steel and designed by Boris Vallejo. Look out, geeks!
Oh, and also: I think I may have started the French Revolution at work tonight. Jakey? Plz plz plz bring the Montaigne book with you on Sunday. (:
no subject
(And I'm glad it was amusing. I'm distinctly peeved at my lack of creative energy since I got sick.)