My personal trainer
Helene. Told two years ago she’d never walk again, she got pissed at the doctor who made the pronouncement and decided to prove him wrong. Today’s torture session is proof of just how wrong that blasted doctor was.
She’s four foot eleven inches of exuberant energy. She’s very nice, very encouraging, and very demanding. *sigh* I guess I need demanding. I’m completely convinced that the liver isn’t going to kill me now, anyhow. I’m going to die at the gym, doing just one more repetition on the adductor machine.
The conference call didn’t come off this morning. I called in promptly at 10:00 … I and my boss were the only two on the line. Turns out the Bossman messed up the times – it was supposed to be 11:00. I told him I couldn’t do it then – that I had an appointment at the gym. A bald-faced lie – the appointment was at 8:30. But I was just too tired to face it. And, after all, I am still on disability.
They’re taking my laptop away at work; it appears that they’re upgrading to Windows 2000 and my laptop won’t support it. I’ll be getting a regular PC instead. I’ll kinda miss the little laptop, but it was starting to act rather funky at times, and I’m just as glad to have it go to a new home somewhere.
OK, here’s the important part. Those of you who believe, pray for me. Those of you who don’t, send some positive vibes. For those of you who don’t believe in positive vibes, at least keep your fingers crossed. The body shop where the Socialist’s car is being repaired called this morning. They wanted to talk with the Socialist, and wouldn’t leave a message with me. Please, please, please, please, PLEASE let this mean his car is fixed. Don’t let this be an additional delay.
Please.