Let’s see…it’s half past noon and I’m here online instead of at the gym. What’s going on?

My gym trainee stopped by before lunch and told me that after a late nite out, she’s too tired to go to the gym today, so she’ll sit this one out. While parking at the gym, I noticed that Mr. W’s car isn’t at its usual spot in the parking lot, which means that he’s not there, either. Motivation is so low at this point that when I saw that the one thing missing from my gymming outfit is a sportsbra, I justified that I can’t work out in my current bra, it’s too unsupportive, and I don’t want to wear a sweaty wet bra back to work, and celebrated internally and left the gym. On my way out I saw Mr. W’s car, he must’ve gotten there late. Oh well. Whatevers. That’s 2 days in a row of skipping (worked thru lunch yesterday individually copying and collating 780 pages of jury instructions), but I’m sleepy and tired.

Besides, I’m self-conscious about my Boot Camp scar/scabs now and don’t wanna be in shorts. “She HAD nice legs,” Mr. W said the other day. And days later, he remarked that the two thick lines of injury are gonna be “pink forever now” when the scabs fall off.
“YOU’RE pink,” I pointed out defensively.
“Yeah, but I’m pink all over. You’re just gonna be pink THERE,” he said. Ptth.