I'm a lazy bastard

I don't think God wants me to be in shape.

It's been three weeks since I've been in my routine at the gym and I feel, first off, like a horrible excuse for a woman. The Boy keeps talking about rocking the pull-ups and I keep talking about... naps? Moving? I don't know, but it's not nearly as inspiring. I can feel my abs turning from semi-hard rock into instant pudding and I hate it.

I'm not eating more and my clothes fit fine, so I can't complain, but I haven't seen Jon since before Easter. Drama and wank abounds in my life and it's all kept me from keeping appointments - even now I have a 4:30 on Wednesday that I'm wondering if I should cancel, but I keep telling myself "Noooooo! Go kick some ASS!" in the hopes that I'll get back in the swing of things after a few sessions are under my belt again.

This all started because I fasted for Easter and didn't want to kill myself when I wasn't eating - then it all went down the crapper.

So the moral of the story is: God obviously doesn't want us to fast, you silly, silly Catholics.





(absolutely kidding, Stef.... except for the first "silly")