I Canna' Post, Captain!

An', I'm givin' 'er all she's got!

Oh, my god, work is kicking my ass on all sides. I'm going through the day so stressed out right now that I'm coming home literally, physically, sore at the end of the day. For the past, I don't know, two weeks? All I can do, when I home, after work, gym, dinner, and evening chores, I am able to do nothing besides stare at some television, read a few pages (Into Thin Air, by Jon Krakauer,) occasionally think to pay some respects to The Man, and pass out cold.

And, everybody, that I should be calling? I know, I'm not calling you. I really, really, mean to, but it seems like the days are just slipping through my fingers. Please know that I'm thinking about you. And don't hate me forever.

Cripes. I can't even follow Lost tonight. Either I'm totally blinkered...or, Lost has become completely unfathomable. Votes?

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HOWEVER, I feel that I must share with you the horrible unfairness of aging.

On Super Bowl Sunday, I got up, and weighed myself (10 pounds off. Yay!) I had saved up all my "flex points" for that night, because we were going to a party. I went to the gym that day - cardio and 40 minutes of weights and sit-ups, dude - and even saved up 17 points just for Sunday evening alone.

At the party, I ate, more or less: Two chicken wings, two (small) bowls of Manhattan clam chowder - the creamless, tomato-based kind - a small slice of cheesecake, a half slice of Boston cream pie, four glasses of wine, and a beer. (Hey, the party was over four hours long. I wasn't drunk.) No chips, no queso, nothing else. The next day I was perfect; the day after, I was perfect.

And, do you know how much weight that one night put on me?

THREE POUNDS. That's how much.

And do you know how much of that weight is still there, nearly a week later, after diligently exercising and counting points and all that crap every day thereafter?

TWO POUNDS OF IT.

I'm just sayin'. Fucking shitty deal, this.