Dear Dear Diary
Friday, April 24, 2009
 
I am essentially a lazy person. I have always been the one who prefers to avoid exercise I don't like. My favorite exercise of all time is swimming, and if I had the chance I would swim every day. However, thanks to this chemical sensitivity problem I have, I can't breathe around chlorine any more, and that makes swimming daily very difficult. The lakes around here tend to freeze over, and our bathtub isn't big enough to do laps. I did go to Curves for a while, but that is complicated by the fact that other people don't like the smell of sweat and therefore wear perfume to cover it up, and the gym itself liked to decorate with scented candles and if you put them by machines I'm trying to use, I can't breathe. There's always walking, and I do try to help with the walking of the dogs (and really Ought to do more but 7 AM is a bit early and the dogs don't like to wait for my lazy ass to get out of bed), but there's often the scent of laundry in the air (DAMN YOU GAIN!), and soon the flowers will be out. They are indeed gorgeous, and smelly.

So my solution has been to get an exercise ball. I sit on it for an office chair. No arms to rest my arms upon - so I don't get pressure induced numbness like ulnar tunnel syndrome or carpal tunnel syndrome. Unfortunately, they are vinyl and smelly for a couple of weeks out of the box which makes me headachey and I tend to pop them every six months or so. The first time I popped one it just scared me. But over the weekend, I landed just exactly wrong on my tailbone and the bugger still hurts. I know it'll fade and there's no lasting damage and I didn't break anything. I just wanted to whinge. And I miss having a chair I can wiggle on at the moment, because the new ball has to go in time out so it stops being smelly. (In addition to the extreme pain getting up from the seated position from the ball). The more I move, the less it hurts, so there's a fine line between hobbling and actual fluid movement. I Will get better. It's just right now I have more than my usual pain in the ass.
 
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This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares. I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.


Other places I go:
Georg's Research
Help local kitties
I have relatives. Be afraid
Blessed is the One True Tami
Tata the Bodacious
Obligatory Yarn Harlot
It is impossible not to love Sandi Wiseheart once you've met her
The Tsarina
Holiday Yarns
Habetrot
I like the name Twiggi
Who to blame for my sock addiction
Maybe the cleverest blog title
Romancing the Yarn
Why I read Romancing the Yarn
Get an ab work out with laughter
My Kitty Obsession
Kittehs
You meet the nicest people playing video games
I'm such a fanboi
Rabbitch
One of my stalker targets
The other stalkee
I just love Josh (the cat)
Josh the Cat and friends
Pet politics
Pet Care
If I were a sheep, I'd be Delores
I live here now
Not Your Mama's Crafters
Make a Lily Pad


Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.

It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.

For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before. Please start at the beginning.

I did mean it to be for http://www.nanowrimo.org - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.

CAST:
Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.

Story #2
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.

Story #3
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.

Story #4
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.

Story X
Reserving this for one-offs, poems, etc.


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Marriage is love.

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