A few days with a sick boy and I am left feeling uncertain whether I ever want to workout again. Rest is nice. Lounging in bed is what these newly clear winter days demand. The rains have lifted. One would think that I would be eager to get back to my daily riding and mania for all things cardio, but the opposite is true. I want to go back to bed right now.
Okay, I'm back.
I'll write this post from bed. You, dear readers, should now disrobe.
Last night the boy's mom texted me, letting me know the boy now has pink-eye. I blame her for this, of course. It's tough to say how she did it, but that she did it is beyond question, at least for the purpose of this paragraph.
The other day she told me what a great father I am, so I should stop. I merely kid a bit... Diplomacy is important, and we have long ago issued withdraw orders to our ambassadors and their families. The embassies now sit either vacant or up for sale, riddled with the graffiti of the underfunded.
Telling someone that they are a great parent is a wonderful compliment if you don't overthink it. So, I won't.
Ok, it is my weekend now, and I plan on doing extreme things, like eating Nacho Doritos. I am almost back up to speed with recovery from whatever it was that was ailing me. I'll either force my body to purge or be taken over by whatever it is that has turned me into its unwilling host.