For the past week I've been working at home while the Things hang out and watch way too much teevee and get way too little exercise.
For purposes of illustration and explanation, you need to know that my computer, my lifeline, is in my bedroom.
In that bedroom I have a wooden kitchen chair to sit on, or my bed. I switch between the chair and the bed and the chair and the bed with frequency while working on said 'pyooter, but I'll tell y'all right now that the MOST comfy position to work in is FLAT ON MY BACK, with the computer propped up on my legs.
Even so, I still have to switch positions from time to time. I didn't think there would be a day when I could say "it's possible to get sore from lying down," or even that "I'm making my living on my back," but I guess that day has come.
I'm sure I'll miss it tomorrow when I'm back in the office and the Things are getting ready to vacation with their Dad. Slumping in my office chair simply does not lend itself to salacious witticisms, or the possible development of decubitus ulcers, the way the whole bed thing does.
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Overheard in the living room:
Thing 2: Gah! My throat is all cloggy! It feels like I've got a slug in it!
Thing 1: Well, drink some water. Or eat some SALT!
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I'm fixin' to commence to gettin' back on the fitness trail. I wandered off it for a little while, but I think I see where I left it and can pick up the scent just fine. (Smells like sweat, maybe).
It's time to get back in the pool, or on the treadmill, or something, ANYTHING. Life is equilibrating again, and it's time to take the time for me, because how am I going to grow up to be a crabby old lady if I don't stay healthy long enough to be a curmudgeonly pain in everyone else's ass?
It's a fair question, y'all.
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Jigsaw puzzles? Happy hobby or work of the devil?
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Short one today, folks. I've got to get back to the grindstone. There's still a little nose left.
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