Thwarted, even.

by Random Acts of Chaos.

When I am operating at my best, I remind myself that I am not on the path I think I’m on. That some day - probably quite soon, at that - I will look back and go “Well god damn. If that didn’t happen, I never would have gotten this other amazingly cool and great thing.”

I have this mental image on the hard days, of me having a day at the gym. Rather than my normal set of weights, my personal trainer looks at me and says “I think you need this” and slides another pair of 45s onto the bar.

I remind myself that I am being asked to lift more than usual, and that it is for my growth and benefit.

A full Nob Hill parking lot feels more like one of those stretchy bands that the physical therapist gives you.

The green ones, too, not the red or black ones.

PS: Tried answering your “How many days are in a week?” with “between 6 and 8, exclusive” for your enjoyment, and now the webpage is telling me to roll my answer into a tube and stick it. Which I put in the same bucket as “some fucking school thing meant I didn’t get my fancy cheese tonight”.