In actuality, as a former sysadmin, my language is quite salty. But on other occasions, I use odd language. “Raining like the dickens,” “she was cute with a big caboose,” etc. Well, the caboose comment was a little mean, but it was about the person who drew my blood sample today, and that hurt like the dickens.

My blood pressure is a little high. I figured it would be a little high at the doctor’s office because I had a, “Tyra Banks,” today: Dutch Brothers — coffee, tall, black, and hot. Perhaps a little crazy as well because Dutch Brothers coffee, like Peets coffee, is quite strong and will make you twitch if you’re not used to it.

I checked my blood pressure after getting back from the gym and I’m still hypertensive in my left arm (the one where I was tortured by the cute, probably married, lab tech) but I’m pre-hypertensive in my right arm. I should probably start eating better and probably getting more sleep, but those aren’t too likely to happen (too stubborn).

Oh, and even though we’re having a huge windstorm that even blew a tree into the street across from the gym (when I arrived there were flares and a city truck and a running chainsaw in the street), Dave the Trainer still wanted to torture me. I wonder what my blood pressure would be if I didn’t exercise.

I’m supposed to go to Dave the Trainer’s Christmas Sweater party on Friday, and I may end up sleeping in my sister’s backyard. I wonder what they’d do if they found me passed out back there. Maybe I can show people my injury and get some sympathy. I slipped on a bench and I have this weird rug burn on my arm. No rugs were involved, but I can’t describe it any other way. “Friction injury,” just doesn’t sound right. Maybe I can say I was tortured by having kittens rubbed on my arm. That makes sense, doesn’t it?