Texas-Fried Wimp

Today is not going to be pretty.

It's been a rough week anyway. Not because I'm any busier than usual. It's the combination of postholiday comedown and an increasing apathy toward my job. Every morning, it's been a struggle just to get out of bed and come to the office.

Today, though. Extra special rough.

Last night was my first session with the trainer at the gym. As a Christmas gift to myself, I signed up for personal training. Paula, the trainer, seemed so nice and friendly and sympathetic when I was getting my initial evaluation. She failed to mention that she was a fascist drill sargeant in a former life. No easing me into things; no "let's see where you're at." She went straight for the pain. The worst was this exercise where I assumed a push-up position---a correct push-up position, mind you---and then stepped my hands up and down a step. I could that about three times before my vision began to swirl in black and red and my arms started to buckle. But she made me do at least eight. Per set. Among other things. I don't even know the names of some of the muscles I worked.

So this morning, I hurt. My arms hurt. My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. My ass hurts and I think it may actually be swollen. It's not the most sore I've ever been, but sore enough that I feel old and creaky and want to lie down.

THEN . . .

After the training session, I went to a Rose Bowl party at my neighbor's apartment. Normally C is a sweet old Texas gal. During a game, though---Lord Almighty. I'm surprised the police didn't show up for a noise complaint. And although I'm not particularly partial to any college team---and I'm usually not much of a football fan---C's enthusiasm was infectious (and I do like watching sports and I hadn't ever watched a college football game and I've decided that college games are much, much more exciting than pro games). So I was cheering and jumping and all that, temporarily forgetting that I was both excited and in pain. (Actually, I think the cheering and jumping may be what kept me from being more sore today---it kept my muscles loose.) And even with leaving at the top of the fourth quarter (which was apparently a mistake---I thought UT was done after the two guys went down as USC got another faux touchdown [seriously, could the officials have been any more biased toward USC?] but, well, Vince Young rocks! Hook 'Em, Horns!), I got to bed way past my usual time and had trouble getting to sleep.

So this morning my throat is scratchy, my head is fuzzy with a slight pounding sensation, my back and arms feel heavy and achy, and my will to do any sort of work is completely nonexistant.

And I know that much of this post makes little-to-no sense and as an editor, I am ashamed. But, well, you know . . .

Is it lunchtime yet? Is it Friday yet?

Update: AND no one wants to get hotdogs with me at lunch. I think I've been dumped by my coworkers. Today is slipping into a serious pity party.