Break the wrist and walk away. Break the wrist. Walk away.

You know... when I started blogging I kinda wondered what kind of writer I'd be given a clean slate. Well, I'm starting to get an idea. The good (or bad depending on how you look at it) thing is that apparently I don't write when I'm depressed. March was really rough. I don't know why exactly, I think it was just all the normal things adding up. The job, the lack of movement in the adoption, the constant grey, etc... But I didn't feel like writing, or singing, or any of the other stuff that I'd normally enjoy. About the most I did was watch movies and hang out with friends who are far more interesting and are dealing with more significant issues than my "general malaise." April has been better and I've been feeling more like myself. I blame the weather.

So you know when you go to the gym and you see that guy who just has absolutely no business going anywhere near workout equipment. Not the totally over-buff meathead who is obviously just parading around the gym to make you feel like poo. But the other guy. The one who gets winded at the drinking fountain and reminds you of Kip from Nap Dyn. Yeah, well you're reading his blog, so shut up. Chris and I recently signed up for the local workout joint. Wanna know why we chose this one?

Good: The treadmill and eliptical machines have individual tv's
Better: With Cable
Worth dragging my sorry butt to the gym: Includes the Sci-Fi channel!!!

So yeah, I'm the guy that joined the gym for the cable package. I *TOLD* you I had no business going near free weights. Nothing gets my blood pumping more than watching that lame-o "The Shining" remake while bulking up my quads. I think they're going to have to put up signs that say, "Caution! Awestruck Nerds sliding off treadmills!"