...or exorcism, as it seems that's what I'm trying to perform on the fat cells in my body. They are little devils and have taken over my body and I can't get rid of them. The ritualistic kickboxing and kneeling before the altar of fitness videos hasn't worked. Ritual sacrifice under the knife might be necessary.
Sorry for the cerebral rambling (cerebral in the sense that my brain was doing it, not in the sense that it was intelligent in any way).
I'm in between fits of exercise at the moment and while I'm resting my feet, I thought I'd update you on the status of a few things.
First, I think I have figured out the exact plans for a feline takeover of the world. Shred paper found in the garbage all over the family room floor and when the humans are bent down picking up the bits of paper that the gutless vacuum wouldn't suck up, attack from behind.
Second, Jim and I are almost done with our anniversary movie list. We have taken a bit longer than planned and gone several weeks past our anniversary, but we are not letting that bother us. We are up to 2006 with "For Your Consideration."
We've put it slightly on hold, though, while I plow through a birthday present: Fawlty Towers on dvd, and especially John Cleese's commentary on each episode. Mr. Cleese laughs through much of the episode titled "Waldorf Salad." I am pleased as punch with this present because my VHS tapes of Fawlty Towers were disintegrating.
Third (or fourth?), yes it was my birthday. No, I don't have any pictures of me turning 42. Several years ago, I made the following announcement to the family: If anyone wants dinner on my birthday, they will have to make it (or buy it). If anyone wants cake for my birthday, they will have to make it (or buy it). And if anyone wants to do anything special for my birthday, they will have to plan it. I spent many years as both a teenager and an adult making my own birthday cakes, and I spend many hours, days even, the rest of the year making cakes for my family. I did not want to make that kind of an effort on my birthday. I'm fine if nothing gets done because I will have spent no energy making a fuss. Sitting around the house doing crossword puzzles and cleaning the bathroom (yes, that too because it makes me feel good to walk into a clean bathroom) and reading are all parts of my ideal birthday, and now that all pertinent children are old enough to fend for themselves, I can have the kind of birthday I really want. With the exception of one thing. Photos of me. No one remembers that a camera is necessary at all celebrations, no matter how small. But I don't nag on my birthday so picture-taking was left undone. So no pictures for you. If you really want to know what I looked like on my birthday, look at my profile picture and pretend I have started another wrinkle or added an ounce or grew one more gray hair.
Back to hopeless optimism: more exercise.