My body, being less a temple and more a dilapidated storefront church with a curious presence of chicken feathers, is out to get me via criks in my neck, aches in my elbows and thickening nasal hair cutting off my airflow. Its ultimate goal can only be to keep me from engaging in regular exercise and walking around in my drawers with the body of a god. My brain, which is part of my body but likes to think it isn’t, is complicit. Rather than a vigorous workout yesterday it said, “Wash a load of clothes, that counts.”
Dumpy, lumpy betrayer that is flesh, just you wait till I evolve to the next plane of existence and be all non-corporeally and twinkly cloudish and look back on feet and tacos with quaint amusement. I did, however, get some vegetables in me yesterday for lunch and dinner, offsetting the slice of poundcake my mouth inhaled.
And I moved the laundry from the washer to the dryer. Heavy, damp towels. Feel the burn, lads!
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