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September 20, 2013

I really don't have anything to say, and I probably shouldn't complain about that--generally my life swings back and forth in the side of the range that goes from "nothing" to "complete shit". Nothing, therefore, is a good thing. Right?

Just ticking along in first gear, facing the fact that the swimming season is pretty much over and I need to find a new way to exercise. I just can't face that damned old, broken-down treadmill with the slipping belt, located in my dank and dirty old cellar. I need to research getting a new one, I guess. That's not going be cheap.

I came home from work on Tuesday and mowed the front lawn, just for the exercise and for a reason to be outside. I had figured on doing everything myself, but Spouse decided to come out and help me. I pushed the mower, he wielded the trimmer and the blower, and we knocked the front out in about 20 minutes. The back needs love, too, but we keep getting rain and can't get it dried out and mowed between downpours.

He was a little taken aback that I wanted to do it, but I was only in it for the exertion. After a fruitless day at work, both my mind and my body needed something physical to help me blow off steam, and a productive task that I could actually complete. I am bushed when I get home, but it is better to keep pushing a little and get some stuff done, just to feel like the day was justified. If I have a day where I spend the whole thing striving for productivity without achieving any, it kills my soul a little bit. Wednesday was much the same, so I used dishes and laundry to ease the pain to my psyche.



Reading: "Emily of New Moon" (1922), Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Listening: Sleater-Kinney, Tegan and Sara, Magneta Lane



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