 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| |
[Something to scratch off on my life-things-to-do list]
| |
So, with steroids still in my system from the six-day prescription for inflammation, I worked out for the first time since seeing the doctor.
And now I know. I know how people get addicted to performance enhancing substances of the illegal variety. Earlier today, my arms swelled up 30 seconds into a workout, while I was doing sets of tricep dips and bicep curls, to the point that they were no longer recognizable as my arms. My t-shirt sleeves strained and curled upward. I kid not.
And all this bitching about how Michelle Kwan should have never gone to Torino in the first place is really getting my 'roid rage up, let me tell you. |
[Junk Drawers and Various National Anthems]
| |
I am completely absorbed by the Olympics. Completely.
Carpal tunnel syndrome ain't got nuthin' on cubital tunnel syndrome. Thankfully, the steroids I've taken for the inflammation in my elbow, which had been causing pain and tingling in my right ring and pinky fingers for two weeks, seem to have worked (I'll find out in a month) whether I'll need surgery). Imagine hitting your "funny" bone, and having that feeling stay with you 24/7. It's not pleasant.
I'm not sure how I screwed up my elbow. It might have been the drunk-one-armed-push-ups contest a couple o' months back. The thought that I can't do preacher curls again is upsetting. Just when I was starting to get arms that were strapless-dress-on-the-red-carpet worthy. Cripe.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club puts on a good show. As good as the albums. Which is how I judge live performances, btw. As there are several bands I love on CD but hate live. It's delightful when musicians can actually sing and play their instruments live. Really.
My living room looks like a Pottery Barn catalog. I so love it. The me of ten years ago would have hated the me of today.
Today, my dad and mom came over to help me with a few house-related things, which I couldn't do on my own thanks to my steroid-induced delirium and the state of my "not-so-funny" nerve: knobs in the kitchen cabinets, new mirror, light, and shelf in the bathroom. I washed two loads of clothes for my mom, as the basement tub at home is out while my dad demolishes and does whatever to the laundry room. He's such a madman. I get my get-er-done attitude from him. Speaking of which, I really need to tidy up the kitchen. But I'm sucked in by pairs skating, which always trumps the get-er-done itch. Always. |
|
|
|