I don't actually have much to say at the moment. Work work work, followed by some work, and although at the moment I have been handed the best projects to work on, around here best really means "least worst". My working life is spent telling myself how good I have everything ... flexible hours, work from home, casual dress, fun people. Yep, everything is good, except the actual, you know, work itself. This isn't meant as a complaint, I could leave at any time, and choose to be here of my own volition, but it's meant to be more of an explanation, or perhaps an excuse, for my lack of interest in spamming everyone with my inner thoughts.
Ah, and you all thought the Dysfunctional Android was dead.
Energy diverted into love and training, in that order.
Oh, the love ... I don't have words for this ... songs maybe, bad poetry, but no words, suffice to say everything is amazing. We're moving in together in November.
Training is ... hard. Got punched in the sternum while sparring yesterday, went straight down to one knee, unable to breathe, caught myself, stood up and kept on sparring. You can see the look in the other people's eyes ... the quiet respect. I think this is what boxing is all about. Mastering self, then mastering the other. Afterwards in pain and I wondererd seriously if my ribs or sternum had been cracked, trouble breathing deeply, and don't even ask about the coughing. But it is all fine today, or at least, doesn't seriously hurt, so I will be back in the gym this afternoon.
Madness of a sort.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
i say bring on the bad poetry...
can we have it written on the internet?
Please...
Bad poetry? Sure!
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't.
Oh, and I forgot to add:
You're moving in together? Awwwwww, it's all too cute for words! Horrah for you both - just don't break anything sparring please, tobytoby, or she might not love you any more!
Vogons! Ah, richard, you're a man after my own heart.
But I am going to avoid the public poetry at all cost. Private serenades are much more my style.
Actually, Richard, I quite liked it.
And that's only the third worst poetry...
Post a Comment