So I'm hauling, sorting, pre-treating, stuffing, removing, flinging, folding, stacking and putting away piles and piles and piles of clothes.
So I'm boring today. For proof, see above, where I desperately employ a thesaurus-load of verbs to tell you that I'm doing laundry.
When I'm not spilling food on myself in exotic and glamorous spots like San Francisco, I appear to do very little except garden and work out. Which leaves me with very little to report. I mean, here you go: "Flowers are pretty!"
And ... I'm spent. Should I continue? And talk about working out? I mean, I've already told you about my ass. Do you really want to hear that the top of my right arm is so painful that I can't straighten it all the way? But that I'm going to the gym again today, anyway, where I will be swimming? And that swimming is 90 percent arms? And that I'm kind of not looking forward to using my arms to propel me the length of the pool? For an HOUR?
But this is a new trainer so maybe I'll get lucky and have one of those initial getting-to-know-you sessions.
And I'll swallow some more Tylenol while I wait for the pretty flower picture to upload. And the laundry to finish spinning.