Time for gains
I ate scrambled eggs and trout for breakfast. And washed it down with a steaming hot mug of bone broth. I am now so desperate to add some dietary yin to my yang that I’m eating chocolate chips out of the box, pilfered from my wives baking cupboard. This is literally the only ‘bad’ stuff I could find in the domicile of the Jo. She’s going to shout at me later. But I’m a edibles-desperado at this point. When questioned later under the gestapo lights I will feign ignorance… well at least initially. Before, begging for mercy. Or blaming the Basset hound. It could go either way. While they may seem lethargic, under that comical exterior lies a devious cunning comparable to the greatest military minds of antiquity. A Basset hound would have marched elephants across the alps if you’d told him the roads to Rome were lined with cookies.
Today is garbage collection day. The most hallowed of days. Blessed be The filthy Father, may His hallowed receptacles always be upon the curb. I’ve probably mentioned this before, but it really has become the day by which I anchor my weeks. A day that requires ‘action’. Every other day blurs into one as the isolation draws ever onward towards its terminus. (whatever that may be)
That’s not to say the other days in the week are relegated to a slothful existence where I wear an oversized XXXL hoodie from Old Navy, stretchy pants and slippers… eh… okay, maybe that’s a bad example.
I did go out yesterday…
But it was a dismal failure in consumerism. I wanted to buy a new kettlebell (the ones I’ve got are all too light now). So I girded my loins (whatever that actually means), masked up and went to Sportmans Warehouse to peruse their selection of forged metal accessories that we use to approximate… eh… running, jumping, climbing, inserting sharp sticks into Woolly Mammoths.
It was like walking into the toilet paper aisle at the supermarket after the great frenzy of ’20. One lonely kettlebell sat on the rack all by its lonesome. A 88lb behemoth. Yeah… I thought, that’s why no one likes you. (because you’re fat)
I did experimentally and somewhat gingerly heft this beast (with two hands). The price thereof… and the fact that I suddenly envisioned accelerating my intestines out of my butthole swayed me from purchasing it. Apparently, with gyms being closed there’s been a run on lifting paraphernalia. And I suppose its also a commodity you wouldn’t necessarily keep excess stock of… its like we live in the dark ages now.
In any event, I’m trying to keep my chin up.