I should work out more often. There are many reasons why I should work out more often (including awkwardly running into Katrina while she was in a towel in the locker room, bam), but as I discovered, it was a lot harder to be annoyed at work this afternoon when I was floating in the haze of post-workout endorphins and the pain of torn muscle fibers starting to rebuild themselves. In fact, I was almost (but not quite) happy. Not happy with what I was doing, perhaps -- but happy to be alive, and to have survived the trainer who told me that his nickname "Bones" was given to him by my doctor after a woman she referred to him broke her ankle during one of her first training sessions. He's actually really great, despite that rather ominous story, and I'm a little sad that I didn't discover him months ago.
So work was fine as a result of that; I had a couple of meetings, a bit of lunch, a gym session, a shower (after which I spent an inordinate amount of time drying my hair, and lost a significant bit of my post-workout rush when I found a gleaming white hair in the same little snakepit that seems to be producing a nest of them on my head), and then some slogging until around 6:30pm. Then I came home, made dinner (chicken fajitas), sat down at my laptop to work -- and wasted a bit of time. Not a ton of time, although I did check Twitter once, mostly by accident -- but I did read up on Vita Sackville-West on Wikipedia. She was responsible for the Sissinghurst Castle Gardens, one of the most renowned gardens in the UK, which I would love to see someday (and take my mother to, if I can just trick her into thinking that we're going to Des Moines for the day and then kidnap her onto a transatlantic flight). She was also an acclaimed writer who had an extraordinarily stable, deep relationship with her husband even though she was also carrying on affairs with women such as Virginia Woolf. But it was about her husband that she said "...there is only one person in whom I have such utter confidence that I would give every line of this confession into his hands, knowing that after wading through this morass -- for it is a morass, my life, a bog, a swamp, a deceitful country, with one bright patch in the middle, the patch that is unalterably his -- I know that after wading through it all he would emerge holding his estimate of me steadfast."
Isn't that a lovely line? I proceeded to write for a bit after that, and I think the scene I worked on ended up more pensive and dreamy because of it. I couldn't write for that long, though; I had a couple of work emails to send out, and I need to go to bed so that I can wake up for a 7am call. Tomorrow should be fun, but I'm going to have trouble doing all I need to do -- I somehow need to make up for the productivity at work I was sorely lacking last week, squeeze in some time at the gym, work on the first assignment for my magazine writing class (which I should have written this weekend), and then go up to the evil city with Heather and Salim for dinner with our friend Durand, who happens to be in town from Boston. That means it's unlikely that I'll write tomorrow -- but since I have class on Wednesday and likely won't write then either, I'm going to be going crazy by Thursday. I must squeeze more time out for the book...but that's a story for another time. Goodnight!
Daily word count: 545 (27.25% of goal)
Productive time: 1.5hrs
RescueTime productivity rating: 0.73 (global average: 0.88)
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