My heating pad isn't thinking, exactly, but I'm blogging from my bedroom floor, whilst I sit upon our heating pad.
And why am I sitting on a heating pad, on my bedroom floor, you might be wondering?
Well, I'm sitting on a heating pad because I pulled a butt muscle today in Body Combat.
Yep, a butt muscle.
It's not painful; only a bit twingy. Twingy enough to warrant a ride on the trusty heating pad.
But still, a butt muscle? Should I say glute, instead? Or backside? I suppose it's more lady like than butt.
Oh, but who am I kidding? I'm no lady.
Our heating pad is getting a lot of use lately. I keep injuring myself.
I suppose I had a good run...but 33 seems to be the age in which my body is beginning to break down.
Even though I've endured several injuries in the past three weeks (back, arm, butt) I still don't have any pain medication in the house. Craig took it all with him. Well, except for the Tylenol PM, but that doesn't do me any good at 11:30 am.
I've been to the store approximately 75 times since Craig left and I've still forgotten to buy more pain medication every single time.
Guess I'm losing my mind, too.
I had some thoughts before I began this post, but I've veered off on such a tangent that I'm not sure I can bring myself back around to my original point. Instead, I'll tell you about my day. I presume the retelling of my not very exciting day might cause you to run for the nearest bottle of Tylenol (PM or not, it's your choice) to dull the pain.
It was a normal day. Up, breakfast, gym. Besides the aforementioned butt muscle pulling maneuver in Body Combat, it was a glorious workout. After a shower, I bought a coffee at McDonalds. I always buy a medium for $1.46 (tax included) but I gave Caroline my last dollar bill at Basket Bingo on Friday night because she was DYING OF THIRST or so she claimed. If she were in fact dying of thirst, she would have at least put a small dent in the water bottle she bought with my last dollar.
As it turns out, she really wanted a soda (um, not at 9 pm) or chips, because she was STARVING, more than she was thirsty for water. She had already eaten a brownie AND a cupcake from the bake sale table, so I put the kibosh on the chips idea. I have to draw the line somewhere, right?
Anyway, I did not have my dollar for coffee, but I had some change. Enough change for a small, but not quite enough for a medium. Not even the Canadian penny I had in my wallet would have brought me closer to the $1.46 I needed.
So, I took the small and drank it happily. It might be March, but it was wet and chilly outside today.
With coffee in hand, and a granola bar to snack on, I headed to the unhappiest place on earth: the commissary. Actually the even more unhappiest place on earth is the gynecologist, but I went there yesterday. First butts and now gynecologists. TMI? Sorry. Like I said, I'm no lady.
So I went to the second worst place on earth and did my grocery shopping.
The commiscary is undergoing a sprucing up, which is nice, except I can't find anything. The yogurt is by the frozen pizzas and the milk is where the butter used to be. The bread is all on carts, divided between two aisles and I had the hardest time trying to find my favorite tortillas. I'm sure it'll all look lovely when the transformation is over, but until then, everything is all askew.
I don't like when things are askew.
I didn't get done with the commissary until almost 1 pm. I booked it on home and put the groceries away and ate some lunch.
Then I proceeded to sit my sore butt down and read all the snarky commentary on last night's Bachelor episode.
For this reason alone, I live for Tuesdays.
Now that the Olympics are over, I can watch The Biggest Loser again. Also, a bright spot on the Tuesday agenda. Although, I do miss the Olympics. I miss the majestic Olympic theme music and how Caroline repeated "Pacific Coliseum" in a funny voice every time it was mentioned on tv. Oh, and I especially miss the Canadian national anthem sing along the Canadian spectators participated in when one of their fellow countrymen won the gold.
Americans don't sing along to our national anthem like that. We should.
Those canucks know how to do it.
I've spent the majority of the evening upstairs, sitting on my heating pad, watching tv. For a while I watched these crazy Jazzercise ladies on the public access television station. One of the ladies looks so plastic-like. She has no body fat, large (and fake) boobs and a giant grin permanently etched on her face. It's kind of creepy.
Now I'm watching the Food Network....and blabbing like I've never blabbed before.
Someone should stop me. If you've managed to read this, thanks.
I'm not sure how the uber gabby gene invaded my body today.
I have every intention of documenting yesterday's great battery switcheroo, tomorrow. I had planned on doing it today, but Bachelor recap reading took most of my free time this afternoon.
As you can see, I have a firm and level headed grasp of my priorities.