What's that thing they say, you know, that the only thing in life that's certain is death? Morbid. Blech.

I can add a couple more certainties though.

1. I can't run 14 kilometres. Not even close. I can jog for about 45 seconds and that's my limit. I'm trying to work out the difference between exercise induced asthma and general unfittnes, but the jury's out. What I can do though, is walk 14 kilometres. It takes me 146 minutes, some gatorade, 3 episodes of This American Life, and a blister under my big toe.

2. I never need to go indoor rock climbing again. Never. Ever. But at least I tried. I even made it to the top of the kiddie wall.


So, I don't want to be boring or anything, but lately I just feel like shit. All I do is get up in the morning (which is an effort requiring great mental strength), go to work, feel bad about eating, drink too much caffeine, schlepp home with the commuting unwashed whilst trying not to fall asleep or get molested on the train, and go to bed. On a good day I stay out of bed for a while when I make it home. On a bad day, I nest myself, fully clothed, in the bed until hunger or Rob forces me out.

Mostly I read the newspaper online. Lately I've become obsessed with websites about hats that minor European royalty (including the deposed houses) wear to society weddings. I'm not sure entirely what's wrong with me, but the disturbing thing is that this is me feeling better than I have been lately (thank you brain-chemical modulating drugs). I'm mean, I could tell that it was getting serious when I stopped perusing facebook and living vicariously through others.

It's about my jaw. And in the upcoming month of September, my goal is to tell you about it. Not for the whole of September (see "I don't want to be boring", above), but sweet Jesus, I need to snap out of this fug.