Reasons Why I Am A Genius

I got stuck in the copier at work yesterday.

Yes, really.

There was a paper jam, and the stupid thing was all jammed up on the inside. So I followed the diagram, and turned the right knobs, pulled the right levers. And the farking piece of paper was not making its presence known. So I had to reach behind the paper drawer, and pull the paper out, inch by inch. When I went to extricate myself and stand up, I found that my elbow was stuck. I had a brief moment of animal-instinct panic (kind of like when the kid in A Christmas Story realizes that his tongue really has stuck to the pole), and I tried to jerk my arm out of the drawer.

Big mistake.

I calmed myself down and wiggled my arm to and fro a bit, and was finally able to pull it out, with a good bit of bruising and scraping to commemorate my accomplishment. I was so proud.

Later that night, Special K offered to give me a back rub, since we were both sore from our workout yesterday (and are more so today). I lay down and jerked my head to flip my hair off my neck. This was an unfortunate choice, because Special K was leaning toward me at the exact same moment, and there was an audible crack as our heads collided.

This was not the way to relax, let me tell you.

Watch it Wiggle

Special K and I have been pretty good about getting up early and going to the gym. Granted, one of us usually has to be the drill sergeant and say “okay, time to get up!” or we’d play snooze tag until 7, but we do actually end up getting out the door, which is the important part. We’ve mostly been doing cardio, and today we decided to add weight training to our routine.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

My arms (we did upper body work) are like jello. Lifting my arm to apply deodorant this morning felt like a monumental achievement because the muscles are, to say the least, fatigued. I know that this is all going to get easier and we’re doing this for a good reason, but I am not looking forward to tomorrow. Because I know tomorrow I’m going to go from fatigued muscles to total agony. I have a feeling that putting on a t-shirt may tax my pain threshold, so getting dressed will be an adventure.

It’s good, though, that we do this together and support and encourage each other. Usually we’re silent and half asleep on our way to the gym. Then we get there and spend about 45 minutes working really, really hard, and on the way home, one of us will inevitably say “you know, I’m really glad we went this morning.”

Which is not the same as being glad that we woke up at the ass-crack of dawn. No one should ever be glad about that.