Day two of the P90X and even though a few curse words spill out, as well the sweat on my face, I feel good. Really good. I look at myself in the mirror, flex here and there, expecting to see results right away. I know it won’t happen over night but I just keep hoping it will. How fucken great would that be? I just want to tone up. I play soccer twice a week and running for 80 minutes a game is enough exercise. I don’t want to get too skinny. There’s skinny versus toned. Sort of like Michelle Rodriguez vs. Nicole Richie. Sure Nicole is thin but she's not muscular, it’s just bones and skin. Now my girl Michelle in the other hand, you can see every single muscle on her legs and back. And that’s what I’m going for! Plus it will help me out on the field.
I’ve adjusted to work. What a relief! I finished all the undone filing that the previous employer left stacked up on her desk. It took me almost two weeks of six months worth of paperwork to file. A pretty descent time frame might I add. By the way, my mother is over my shoulder watching me type away. She doesn’t agree with my weekly documenting on line. Bleh. “When I was your age, we sat outside and enjoyed the wind and the night sky . . . .” (I hear it all the time). In through one ear, out the other! She doesn’t understand the passion of writing and just venting with words. It’s relief in a single stroke. . . . One key, one letter, one word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time, a beautiful repetitive sequence.
Well it’s getting late and there’s not enough sleep through the night for me to venture into. Good night world. Peace.