Freakatude.

I will admit it. There is nothing to be ashamed of, for these are enlightened times. We can confess to all our weirdnesses. So I will say it and I will say it loud.

I like to work out.

Please put down the breakable objects. It's really not that strange.

I like to work out for a couple of very simple reasons. First, it makes me feel better. It combats chronic pain and the depressive tendencies of the Pacific Northwest winter.

Second, it means I write better. When I exercise, my body tolerates writing for longer periods of time with no pain. When I exercise, I focus more easily on what I need.

I call my workout "Caring for my Instrument." Painters know they need to clean their brushes to create the images they see in their heads. Carpenters know they can't shape wood with dull tools. Musicians know that poorly tunes saxophones or tubas or violas aren't going to do their careers any favors.

If my sciatic nerve feels like a hot wire thrust down the back of my leg, if my wrists, elbows, shoulders, back, and neck hurt - well, I'd be better off turning off my computer and crawling back under the covers.

And really? Writing is a lot more fun than hiding in bed. :)

How do you care for your instruments?

Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!

Somehow, I don't think my monster truck announcer voice translates well into text, but it was worth a shot.

Because I really wanted to say --

Pancakes, PANCAKES, PANCAKES!

My beloved Charming Man is making his world class pancakes for Sunday breakfast.

Sometimes, life is good. :)