Overdoing it at the gym.

There’s always signs when you’re overdoing it at the gym. Cramping up when taking a shower is one, but my big sign is that it took me forever to mop the floor. I’m pooped. One of the problems is that I have very little sense, and I keep asking the master of the blowout whether I should make big jumps in the weight I use. His answer is, “Sure, why not?” Sheesh. I mean, the dude hurt himself and even then he was still doing spectacular weight today. Oh, well, I’m not beating anyone else’s records, but I’m getting my money’s worth.

Tomorrow is Il and Todd’s biannual Ringside event. It would make sense if it was spaced out evenly throughout the year, but it’s a birthday dinner so we don’t have that much choice. January and April we go and spend too much on some of the finest steaks you can get in Portland. The sad part is that I bet this is the closest thing that either of us is going to get to a date this month. I suppose this is why I used to always introduce Il as my heterosexual life partner. At least we’ll be well fed.

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