One, I worked out yesterday for the first time in months because I refuse to keep buying pants larger than those now on my person, and at this very moment my right hip feels as if it may fall off, may completely detach itself from my body, and what a relief that would be. My torso feels as if it’s been stretched on the rack, and that’s not too far from the truth. Because I broke down and actually purchased the self-contained, boxed fitness system created by The Firm. If you’re familiar with the system, you’ll know that it contains a stepping / torture device known as “The TransFIRMer.”
I love that. It almost makes up for my inability to sit upright today. The only way it would be better is if they'd called it "The FIRMster."
Two, I finished my revisions and spoke with my editor last week, and it appears the publication of Riding with Larry Resnick may be moved to spring of 2008. In the meantime, I will be working on the next book and freaking out about a wide variety of things that will likely provide good blogging fodder.
So I’m currently sporting ill-fitting shorts (that I hope the TransFIRMer will eventually make somewhat less ill-fitting) as well as mixed emotions about the delay in my book’s release. But as a baby amoeba in the publishing pond, I am trusting in the literary powers that be. Neurotic, compulsively sharing* mess that I am, I’m sure I’ll keep you posted on the developments. But in the meantime, let the navel-gazing continue!
Actually, I can’t bend my neck to look at my navel right now.
Tonight, I travel to Milwaukee for dinner with my sister and later, my first work-related meeting in months. The first fact makes me smile and the second, well, it makes me frown in a slight way that tells you two things: a) I’m not so thrilled about working during my time off and b) I’m grateful to have this job at all. So, it’s kind of a reluctant grimace.
Also, this weekend we’re building our garage with help from my industrious and gracious in-laws and two of J’s burliest friends. I’ll be the one taking pictures, making snacks for everyone, and saying, “Boy! You guys sure are working hard!” every fifteen minutes.
It’s also my mom’s birthday this weekend. What to buy the woman that brought me into the world, two weeks late and ornery as hell, and actually speaks to me today despite the hormone-addled ogre I became between the ages of 13 and 16? Hmmmm…something tells me a fart machine just won’t cut it.
My mom is extremely practical. When asked what she’d like for Christmas one year, she actually replied, “Oh, I don’t know. A pot holder?”
So I got her a framed black and white print of a solitary tree in a snow-covered field. Unfortunately, I glued my bows on the wrapped package with some kind of industrial adhesive that leached through the paper and left unattractive scuffs on the picture beneath. My mom hung it on the wall anyway, which is a testament to her awesomeness. Plus, she still displays a bunch of crap I painted back in 1984: faceless ceramic Amish kids sitting on a bench, a quilted bear (also ceramic), an apple crate lid with a wooden goose, half-basket of dried flowers, and wooden “Country!” logo all glued on in an approximation of lameness, and an acrylic painting of more faceless Amish kids on a beach, feet buried in the sand and hands in pockets because, as I have limited skills in the visual art arena, I can't paint feet and hands. Talk about your cowsuckers!
Anyway, I’m open to suggestion, if you have any. A gift more impressive than those given by my siblings is a plus.
*As evidenced by the “My dad calls you a Polack!” phone greeting of my youth.