Ouch!

I don't think I've ever been this sore in my life. I don't want to move my body much at all. I feel like all the muscles in my chest have been flayed, soaked in gasoline, and then lit. Even though I'm so sore, I offered to help Jon move his mom, so that's what I'll be doing tonight and tomorrow. Shit. At least Jon will find my grimaces amusing over the next couple of days; at least I can offer some entertainment. Western Oklahoma, here I come.

Dag-nab-it!

Darn, I'm sore. Late last week I joined a gym and finally worked out there yesterday at lunch. I ran a couple of miles, did three different shoulder exercises, curls, and worked my upper back. Ouch! Monkey farts! I didn't think I would be sore today, but I feel like an old man. I want to snarl at stairs, yet all I do is grunt a little when I've had to climb them today. I thought I might go to the gym again at noon today, but it didn't happen. Instead, I ate too much Mexican food. Tomorrow, however, I will go back to the gym whether I'm sore or not. Running again probably would have been a good idea to work some of the stiffness out of my legs, but screw it. I know I'll go tomorrow. And once my body gets used to exercising again, I think I'll go everyday except on Fridays. On Fridays I'd much rather spend my lunch in a bar tossing down a few so that I can have a little buzz while at the office in the afternoon. And believe it or not, the office is okay with that. :)

Speaking of drinking, I've cut back a lot in the last few months, but I usually do drink every evening. I know that doesn't sound like I'm cutting back. Just bear with me. This is exactly what I do on a normal day after work: take the dog out, play some, then feed her; while she's eating, I make myself a drink, park my ass on the couch, grab the nearest book and read for a while until my dog whines and bothers me. This can take an hour and a half, and in that time I will have only had a few sips. So, my drinking has really improved compared to what it used to be. I used to drink nonstop from six o'clock in the evening until midnight everyday.
Now what in the world does discussing this have anything to do with anything? Well, I'm just organizing my thoughts and giving a bit of background information to ask: Why do I drink so often? I've come to . . . well . . . it's time to go home . . . More later!

It's later now. I've come to the conclusion that I drink for two reasons: (1) I enjoy it and (2) I can. Sounds terribly banal, doesn't it, as if I'm throwing my middle finger to the seriousness of the question. Yet there are reasons why I enjoy it. I enjoy alcohol, obviously, because it relaxes me, slows the ole' noodle down (my brain, not the other noodle) and allows me to focus after being pulled in five different directions at work all day long. It helps me get to sleep, and I don't need much alcohol in order to get that help; just a couple of small glasses of cognac will do the trick. (If any of you have never tried Navan, I highly suggest it. It is a vanilla cognac that has the most wonderful flavor. If you have trouble finding it, then ask the liquor store to order it. If the manager hasn't heard of it, let him or her know that it's made by Grand Marnier.) Have I tried sleeping pills? Yes, I have. Do they knock me out? Yes, and I don't like that much. Is it difficult to get up the next morning? You bet your ass, and I feel groggy for most of the morning. A couple drinks don't leave me feeling that way in the morning, and they don't knock me out in the evening either.

And, yes, I can drink. Sooner or later, however, it will have to slow to an almost complete halt, such as when (or if) I have kids. I hope I have them, but ya' never know. I might never be in a position to--as in I might not be in a healthy enough relationship to feel confident, as a couple, to raise emotionally healthy human beings. Can I still drink if I have children? Well, yeah--but I don't think it's a great idea to have a couple every night. If there's an emergency, is it a good idea to have any alcohol in my system? Not in my opinion. So, at this point in my life, I can drink--with as few repurcussions as possible. And I enjoy that for now.

One hour until I'm at the gym, a gerbil on a wheel . . . and I'll like it, dammit!!

A New Year? Really?

It doesn't feel like a new year. Then again, I didn't do much to celebrate because (1) I still know very few people in the Sapulpa/Tulsa area, (2) my close friends are spread out all over the place, and (3) the cops around here were swarming looking for people who drink and drive. So, guess what I did? I went to the local bar, of course, then drove home. No worries. I was there from six in the evening until eight. Not long. The cops weren't really out in abundance yet. The few people there who "know" me (which means they know my name)--the three bartenders and a couple of other "regulars" (I'm not really all that regular, but I'm getting there)--were perplexed that I left so early, even though that's what I do just about every time I go out. One even said, "Stay! You might get laid," not that I really need to have sloppy, drunken sex with some beer-swilling woman who has hair that smells of Coors, jagged teeth and wears too much perfume--and afterwards greeted by an STD. But if warts--or something equally digusting--spelled "Happy New Year!" on my penis, then maybe I'd be okay with it. But I doubt it. So I went home. Note: Can the discerning reader determine that I don't think much of picking up women at a bar?

There wasn't much to do except drink some more, smoke on my porch, and watch the traffic. Sounds boring, doesn't it? It could have been worse. For instance, maybe I don't live on a busy road on which plenty of people get pulled over for speeding because it's one of the few through streets without a traffic light to get to the other side of town. But, you see, I do live on this kind of a street. And loads of cars were stopped. This doesn't make for Oscar-nominated entertainment, but when you're loaded, it's just dandy. So that was my new year, combined with watching a bit of OETA (PBS for those of you reading this who don't live in Oklahoma, which is every single one of you; thank you, one person for reading this). I must be old. I'm beginning to really like OETA. I watched musical performances dedicated to Ella Fitzgerald. (Hey! I said I'm getting OLD, not becoming GAY! Shut up! I studied jazz drumming when I was younger so just put a sock in it!) And then I watched an old rerun of Chicago and Earth, Wind, and Fire play together. That was awesome! Geez, if my life keeps going at this rate, I'll soon enjoy the Lawrence Welk Show. Gag!

Oh, I finally have electricity again. I can't express how relieving it is to have lights, a working fridge, a washer and dryer, a microwive, a boob tube, a beard trimmer, a CD player, a DVD player . . . I could go on and on. But really the 10 day hiatus from electricity wasn't all that bad. I think I might have been a touch calmer without the noise of all of these electrical things, but you take the good with the bad, right?

Bah! I'm already bored with writing this . . .