You guys, I am never going to reach the level of responsibility necessary to become a real grown-up. Last night I went to bed without putting the leftovers away–after saying to Jason, “I can’t forget to put these leftovers away.” This is not the first time that’s happened. So much food has gotten tossed for no reason other than my own shit-for-brains-edness. I once had to throw out about two quarts of bison chili. BISON CHILI, YOU GUYS. (God, it was a good batch, too.) On multiple occasions my subconscious has slapped me across the face and woken me up at midnight to go put the g-d leftovers away.
Other things that completely escape me (this list is by no means exhaustive):
- Doing dishes more than
three times a weekonce a day. How the hell do we go through so many dishes?
- Putting laundry away. Fucking socks, find your own mates!
- Watering potted plants. The garden can go three days without water, why can’t you?
- Picking up the dog shit in the yard. She’s a crop-duster, so there are just little bitty turd nuggets scattered all over our 1.4 acres, and it’s like the worst kind of Easter-egg hunt you can imagine.
- Paying my bills before the very last possible minute, leaving me to worry if it went through in time. I’d bitch about there not being a grace period, but you know I’d just abuse that too.
- Getting my hair trimmed. I should just shave it and get a couple wigs.
- Deleting pictures off the camera card. My poor geriatric laptop has a stroke every time I ask it to read the card, which could be improved by simply deleting the stupid pictures. And yet I cannot.
It’s a good thing I don’t have kids. I can see it now–“Oh come on, I just changed your diaper yesterday.”
So now I have to go to the store again today, which I hadn’t planned on doing, and I have to cook dinner when we get home from CrossFit, which is like the most annoying thing on the planet, and GODDAMMIT WHY CAN’T I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER ENOUGH TO JUST POUR THE FUCKING STEW INTO A TUPPERWARE AND PLACE IT IN THE REFRIGERATOR. Oh, by the way–
- Cleaning out the refrigerator. It is beyond. me. So much crap to throw away… so little inclination to do it.
Basically I’m, like, the worst housekeeper on the planet. I hate my slovenly ways and yet I am incapable of changing them.
CrossFit last night was a doozy.
- 25 toes-to-bar
- 50 pushups
- 25 wall balls
- 50 situps
- 25 KB swings
- 2 minutes rest
- 3 rounds for time.
I seriously need to work on my pushups on my own. We don’t do them too terribly often with our programming, and I’m not getting much better at them. I got a lot stronger a lot faster when I was doing P90X (which should just be called “You’ll Do A Lot Of Fucking Pushups”). Those pushups beat the crap out of me–by the end of it I was only able to bust out one or two at a time, on my knees no less. I finished in 33:39, which was right in the middle of the pack as far as other people’s finish times, so I felt okay about that. But when I was in the middle of climbing that pile of pushups, I didn’t feel okay about much of anything.
My back held out, by the way. It didn’t really hurt, except for a little grumble on the KB downswing, so as long as we’re not asked to do any Supermans tonight I should be good to go. I didn’t feel nearly as gimpy last night as I did the night before.
But, as usual, I’ll be happy for a rest day tomorrow. Maybe I can get some housework done!
Haha. I made a funny. Housework.