Hurrieder and Hurrieder

Okay, so life is crazy goofy.  Me!  At my age … have decided to get in shape and grow a muscle.  Maybe two or even three.  For the past weeks, I’ve been working out with a personal trainer who stands over me and yells in my ear.  COME ON, WUSSY GIRL.  GIMME TEN MORE.  NOW!!!

This is so not me

Did I mention that I hate to sweat?

Noneheless, I’m doing it.  I’m growing a muscle.  Of course, you can’t see it yet, silly — it’s growing, not grown.  Sheesh.

You wonder why I’m torturing myself by spending hours every day in a gym that smells of man-sweat and iron weights?  I want to live long enough to see at least one of my novels published.  Simple as that.  As everyone in my family, I’ve developed a nasty habit of collecting cholesterol in my arteries.  Yeah, I’m still sorta young to have such cholesterol collecting ambitions, but I’ve always been something of a progeny.  Nevertheless, I’ve words to write and books to publish.  It’s as simple as that.

My apologies if I’ve been less-than attentive to my musings of late.  I’m busy growing a muscle.  Or two.

P.S.  The above picture is so NOT me, but courtesy of Getty Images.


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