Internet is down. Reduced to typing on ipad. Too fussy to do e mails this way. In other news, my...

Internet is down. Reduced to typing on ipad. Too fussy to do e mails this way. 

In other news, my personal trainer quit to be an IT guy. I’m very happy for him and all, but this propels me into a sort of existential crisis—WHAT AM I GOING TO DO (to work out)? WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANYTHING (besides lifting really heavy things while your spotter talks about zombies)? WE ARE ALL WAITING FOR GODOT THE BUS MEANING A GOOD WORKOUT ROUTINE.

I should note that my trainer’s last day was Friday; I was his last client ever; and his girlfriend calls him Captain America, because, yeah, that’s what he looks like. What, you’re telling me that you wouldn’t miss lifting weights with the Captain? You liar, you.

So anyway, instead I went to yoga.

I always forget that yoga is a) really fucking hard/strength based and B) super soothing.

Despite maintaining my usual flippant and cherry tone—I think—I am actually quite soothed.

Like, I can easily imagine a future where I do this more often and I slowly become more one with myself/the universe and develop poise and calm and, I don’t know, stuff. It’s awesome. Positive. Good.

Which is probably why we’re going back to a CrossFit gym next month. Twitchy motherfuckers like me spring towards noise, not peace.