Happy Labor Day. But not for 24 Hour Fitness employess. You guys I thank for laboring through today to keep the gym open so that I could go kill myself. Much obliged.

This holiday weekend, Mr. W and I became “two.” Not two as in two people (altho we’re that, too), but two as in, we need two candles on the relationship birthday cake. We celebrated by doing nothing, our current favorite pastime, since weekends are oddly overbooked these months. So Friday, I stayed home all by myself and hung with the Dodo Boy; Saturday, I cleaned the house, organized some stuff, ran some errands, then in the afternoon finally made it over to Mr. W’s house, where we watched “Perfect Stranger” starring Halle Berry and Bruce Willis on DVD. (The movie affected the mood; I felt sick and perturbed afterwards. Not a great aphrodisiac movie for dates, just to warn you.) Sunday, we had a dim sum brunch with my parents, then went to my house where Mr. W worked some air conditioning filter magic and got my A/C in tip-top shape so that my Fozzy Wozzy Dodo Pal could survive in his unremovable fur coat in this freakish 100+ degree weather. There’s only so much cooling down my dumping ice cubes into his water dishes would allow. Oh, and I cleaned his little ears, so it was a productive day. Then after confirming that college roommie Diana has arrived in San Diego in the afternoon, I drove us down to meet up with her and her friend Gil for a nice dinner. Aside from Mr. W and I walking over a mile to the wrong location to meet them at the bar they were at (the brilliant Ivy League-bound bartender there gave her the correct number of the building, but the wrong street, so that the address made us walk across town stepping over the legs of drunken homeless people and crazy ladies in wheelchairs yelling at us on the streets and avoiding sidewalk pee puddles to arrive at the address we were given, staring confusedly at a run-down Hawaiian burger joint, which was CLOSED, instead of leading us to a safe, lit swanky bar in the middle of night life action in the Gas Lamp District), the night was fun and we got to explore the less ghetto parts of San Diego on foot. Diana also treated everyone to a very nice Italian dinner as an “engagement present” to me and Mr. W. Even as I write this, Diana is out playing in San Diego with Gil, her personal tourguide right now. Nice guy. Very funny. (I mean he’s a funny guy and made me laugh, not that it’s funny-weird that Diana knows a nice guy.) We got back to Mr. W’s house at 2am, and I was exhausted.

This morning while at the gym, trudging from machine to machine, I thought for probably the hundredth time in the past year how I must be just physically out of it right now, because I’ve had to stop to catch my breath in between exercises of my supersets, and will myself to continue to the next exercise. I tried to remember the last time I’d felt full of energy and ready to tear it up. I know I’m anemic right now from the time of month, but the fact that I can’t remember the last time I felt really good in-between exercises makes me wonder, am I getting lazy and unconditioned? Am I *gasp* old? My recent physical examination scored me in high marks health-wise, both in bloodwork (crazy-low triglycerides, ideal blood pressure, low overall cholesterol with high HDL cholesterol) and in physical body (doctor said everything looked and felt very healthy and normal, and I’m right-smack in the middle of the ideal range for my body mass index). So what is going on?