And R. is insisting I work out.  He’s pulling out my “gym” clothes as we speak.  He’s prepared to carry me to the car, drag me into the workout place, and plop me on a treadmill.  And not because he thinks I’m fat or is worried about my health, but because he’s a lunatic who thinks everyone ENJOYS exercise the way he does.  No matter how many times I explain to him I DO NOT LIKE TO WORK OUT, he is not convinced.  I just haven’t found the right way of doing it yet, because the pain–it’s awesome!

If I do not blog tomorrow, do not think my NaNo hopes dashed, think of me dead by treadmill related injury.