From Working Out To ... Being Out For Only Thirty Minutes???

Because I haven't worked out in a while, and because I sat on my ass eating popcorn and pop watching The Artist this afternoon (verdict: Very charming, and I came out feeling good about myself, which is rare, but I want to think it's a better movie than I fear it actually is), and because I followed that up with two cups of coffee I filled with sugar, I wanted to work out tonight.

I reconsidered later this evening, however. Thing is, exercising for a worthwhile amount is contingent on getting out early enough in the night, and that's dependent on when I eat, and I can only do that when my parents get home. They've gotten home early, they've gotten home late. I just never know when.

Compounding all of that, as I was thinking all this while having coffee in My Favorite Coffeeshop (Afternoon Division), was the modem has gotten back to being unreliable. I remember that I was surfing really slow on the Internet last night, unforgivably so. It got so bad that I could do the things I wanted to do, and not just porn. If I had some things I wanted to do, maybe having a night out just working on my computer wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

So I had options: If the 'Rents come home early enough, work out. If not, work on my laptop. And they came home around 7:30. Shit.

We just ate pork chops and rice, and I ate them early enough that, if I left immediately afterward, I could get an hour of exercise. But Father had been noticeably squawking at Grandmother after she opened up her goddamn mouth about once again buying a whole chicken that none of us were going to eat. I didn't know what to do; I didn't want to just sit there seeing Grandmother eat and be a buffer between her and My Father, yet I didn't feel good about leaving the house until he went downstairs without killing her. So I impotently went into my room and idly waited until Father got done cleaning the kitchen. Why he was cleaning there so long, I haven't the faintest idea.

After he went downstairs, I felt a bowel movement. I shit something the size of a grape. So I got out of the house a bit after 9. And this is when I vowed to come back to watch Letterman, all of Letterman, at 10:35.

Driving out, I realized that I intended to fill up my gas tank. Even though I had a quarter tank left and prices recently spiked to $3.40, I wanted to take advantage of the coupon I had because Tuesdays count double at the gas station I go to. But I took a right instead of a left when I realized this, so I had to make a U-turn. Then, after listening to the fucking goddamn Wild cough up three goals in 3 1/2 minutes and piss away a 4-2 lead to lose to Nashville (why does Nashville have a hockey team again?), I got so distracted that I took the wrong exit. I had to double back by making three left turns. Finally, I had to look for a couple minutes for a plug for my laptop in this coffeeshop, which is usually very busy.

So, all told, by the time I sat down and was ready to work on my laptop, it was ten to 10. If I wanted to get home in time to catch the beginning of Letterman, I should be leaving ... oh, right about now, 10:21, approximately a half-hour after I sat down.

Why didn't I just stay home? Not only did I not work out, I got fatter because I'm drinking yet another cup of coffee I filled with sugar. Plus I can't do what I want to do on the computer because I decided to blog about this instead. And I'm going to take so much time dicking around on the Internet that I'll come back too late to catch Letterman's monologue, which I always like.

Fuck my life.