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!!!
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.