I like words a lot.
A lot a lot. But I also like doing things to them. And sometimes that makes it seem like I don’t like words all that much. Or maybe it shows that I like them too much.
It’s not coffee, I’m brewing that good, good brown water: ggbw, as I like to call it. I’m slamming gallons of that stuff down my gob throughout the day, every day. And with no creamer? All that zero-calorie taste with all those benefits and stuff? Something to drink that isn’t just water?!
Which is just ggcw, of course. Good, good clear water.
And the best part? It’s only probably just barely killing me with all that caffeine. Could be worse though. Could be soda. Or pop. Cola? It has weird names. Regional things are funny.
But I’m also not just playing Destiny, I’m playing ‘stiny. And I’ve not made progress by, for the first (and second) time ever, jogging an entire 5K without holding onto the rails of the treadmill and not dropping into a speedwalk.
Nah, I made ‘gress on the ‘mill!
That last one, by the way? Felt good. Every time I’d done it before, I’d done what I said I didn’t do twice now – gripped the sides and just basically speedwalked the whole thing. The speed never picked up, still kept it at 4.2 mph, but oh man, is it ever harder to do that. You wouldn’t think it was. I sure didn’t expect it to be that much harder. A lot of times I want to quit, but with a quick inner pep talk*, I kept on churning.
*a constant barrage of interior monologues and outward enthusiasms to keep me putting one leg in front of the other.
It’s always funny in hindsight though, because even if I did stop the jog, it’s not like I’m about to slow down – it’s still the same pace. Doesn’t matter though. The desire to quit is still there. Feels good to rise above the want to stop.
The big downside to that kind of ‘gress is, well, now it’s expected. What started out as mile-long walks have evolved into 5K jogs that I’m now expected to do on a pattern of three days on, one day off. And no one’s gonna make me do it but me, and I’m pretty good at convincing myself of things. Or guilting myself. Definitely one or the other.
But on that first third day? I decided to just orange bumpy sphere for an hour. Might just do that instead of three straight 5K jogs. Balance some fun with the runs, you know? But it’s not like that’s a day off either. Nah, let me tell you, that much OBS is a lot of basketball to play.
But the weirdest result from the whole jog thing was that it wasn’t my legs hurting or my abdomen hurting with a stitch the size of the moon. Nothing like that, nothing like what you’d expect. Instead, my shoulders were killing me. A quick online search said it was my trapezius. Figured basketball was a good way to use those muscles better? I don’t really know. Apparently, it’s from poor running form? I’ll work on it. I’ve got a lot more to do.
But the ache was real.
Man, I didn’t realize how long it’d been since my last blog. Twelve dang days since I waxed poetic about bubblegum and stuff? Guess I didn’t notice that I usually push a blog out during the content drop weeks. Ah well, hopefully it wasn’t too missed. And I was crazy busy with the stories that did go up. The adventure was practically re-written three times. Hope you liked those, by the way. The few coffees I got said as much. Thanks, again, so much for your support. And if you wanna join in on that Ko-Fi train, just scroll to the bottom of this, or any page, and click that blue rectangle on the left side.
Oh yeah! Before I forget. Something vaguely poetic, or karmic, or – you know it’s definitely something.
So, the most recent adventure, telling the story of Georgetta, is bittersweet. Not only in, well, the content in the story, but the fact that now I’m going to sell her. Yeah, I know right? Just after I publish this story herofying her? Some nerve I have! Truth of the matter is that she’s done her part for me, it’s time for her to do that for someone else. Also, I think I’d rather have dad’s truck. That’s a story for another time though.
And speaking of stories for another time, that time is now. It was brought to my attention by one of the witnesses to the insanity of those Las Vegas omelets that I forgot a wonderful detail our driver claimed:
That he was contracted by the Pentagon to do security installation.
So on top of everything else – world-class jet skier, supermodel wife with two kids, tech repair entrepreneur just driving for a rideshare app so he could meet people – our driver also had that on his resume . But if I put that though, you all wouldn’t have believed me, right?
Straight from my friend: “I had a feeling it was either gonna be the death of us or a great story as it was happening.”
Thanks for reading.