Fair Warning

Still dealing with that energy drain and waking up to our lovely warm weather mutating into cold, rainy, dark, gloom overnight, it's fair warning and woe to any neighbor falling on the stairs today because the plan for me is to do absolutely nothing but rest.

I’ll call 911, but I’m not opening the door, not leaving the unit.

May not even get off the couch.

It was a miracle that I suited up, headed for the Pain Cave, pushed myself, completed yesterday’s workout.

I was counting on the fact that sometimes a workout can refresh, restore, renew.

Not this time.

I was so tired at the end of the workout that I slumped over, said out loud to myself, "Oh Lord have mercy Jesus, I’m soooo tired!!!". To which Trainer replied, "Oh you don’t have to call me that. Remember we decided on Big Guy ... Big Poppa Pump ... Big Hoody Daddy ... Super Mega Destroyer or, you can just call me Great Mortal Zappa".

Great Mortal Zappa? LOL. How does this guy come up with these.

At any rate, today is my day of rest. I've had a bubble bath, breakfast, am yet to paint my face but, once I do, the plan is to jump into the warm comfortable camo onesies, nap off/on the entire day.

Watching a crime show late Sunday night, I had a wait a minute moment, much like one I had a few years back when a wooden coffee cup holder in the background of a show caught my eye because it was the exact match for the one I kept on my kitchen counter at that time.

Then there was that time when Brittney was showing off her closet and a bag hanging on a rack caught my attention.

It happened to be the self-same bag I’d gotten as a freeby for purchasing Estee Lauder perfume.

I remember posting at the time that I didn’t care much for the bag because it was all flowery and I’m not a flowery type person, but I kept it.

Good thing because it came in handy just the other day, when I was looking for something to transport the bedroom laptop to/from the electronic store.

Perfect fit.

Sunday’s crime show was about a woman accused of ending her son-in-law.

Angry at 13 years of his mistreating her, his wife (her daughter) and their children, she made a conscious decision to take him out, freely admitted to the crime, was gleeful over the fact he was gone.

Watching her seated in the interrogation room, the shirt she was wearing prompted me to get up, check the closet for something I’d bought at Walmart some years ago.

Sure enough.

Of course, my shirt, a cheap Walmart purchase to begin with, has seen better days, but it’s the same color, same number, same yellow stripe, same shirt — now generally used to kick around inside when cleaning.