Last night I left work right at 5:00. I had been in early, took a short lunch and will need to go in early today too, not that that makes a difference, but somehow makes me fell justified in watching the clock and leaving on time. Anyway, I got to the gym around 5:10. Looked for a locker, had to bypass two grumpy old men who were arguing with each other over who was going to lose the most weight on their apparent personal challenges. I smiled, "excuse me...I just need to get by here."
I got changed and was out on the floor for a good hour. I never really talk to anyone while I'm there. Some people find the gym to be a social event. I'm polite. If someone smiles and talks to me I'll engage but I'm there to workout not pick up anyone or make friends. (Although, now that I think of it...)
A little over an hour later I was leaving the gym feeling really good about myself. The frigid blast of arctic air didn't bother me as my metabolism was high and still recovering from several sets of a good, hard workout. No notes from a secret admirer. 'Maybe I'll stop off at Rob's and feed the fish. Nah? I gave him enough yesterday. Rob said every other day was fine. Besides I've been out every night this week. It'd be nice to stay in and do nothing.'
I got home. Bandit was chomping at the bit to go out. Let him out, feed him. 'Maybe I'll go out after all. Yes...no...yes...no.' Sometimes I just don't know what to do with myself. When I'm constantly going and it stops and I finally have time to think, my body and mind still race. Do something, do something, do something...
I wound up responding to e-mails. Then watching television for all of three minutes hearing about Anna Nicole Smith's tragic death - I felt bad. 'I can't watch this. They're just making a spectacle of her. She was an actual person for God sake!' Click.
Then I made a few phone calls. Where I found out how difficult it is to pop a pimple on certain areas of your back when you're single. (You need a boyfriend for stuff like that.) Discovered that Sister Esther Jackson really can't sing (check out last night's late post if you haven't already). And from others a bunch of pettily things that shall remain unsaid.
Last night was Karaoke at the club. I contemplated going (dressed in my jogging pants, Provincetown sweatshirt, baseball cap and glasses - I didn't care) but I got wrapped up into Augusten Burrough's alcoholic follies in Dry and had Bandit nuzzling into my side.
Getting sleepy...lights were out around 9:30 - 10:00. The last thing I heard was Bandit snoring. Zzzzzzz...