Tonight, I created a delightful couscous concoction with sauteed garlic and onion, cooked in vegetable broth and seasoned with basil, cumin, salt & black pepper, with black beans and some green peas. Pretty fun! A very good, quick, vegetarian dinner.
Today at the gym I did Leg Presses. (Mondays & Thursdays I work out my legs.) And I really, truly dislike that WHOEVER uses the press machine at the sub-par gym at St. George's University leaves all those plates on!! I hope whoever you are, you are reading this. I don't care if you think you are better than me because you are stronger than me, or more hard-core than me, but I don't care, because it doesn't change the fact that you left all that weight on for me to take care of. My leg workouts are about me, and not about you. Just because you can press that much, doesn't mean that I can, or that I can even remove all of those 45-lb plates you leave on the machine. I do not incorporate cleaning up after you as part of my workout. Beware, Heavy Presser, for I will bring my Post-Its next time, and you will experience my wrath.
I'm watching "Julie & Julia" as I write this--and it makes me very happy. I can relate: I myself am venturing into a new, slightly-scary adventure with my exercise stuff, and like these Julia characters, I also fortunately have this wonderful husband who acts as my cognitive therapist, business consultant, and partner in crime.
It rained a lot today, which in Grenada for me means: not a laundry day, a no-show yoga day, high humidity, no random fires of burning whatever, and lots of cool wind through the house.
Ryan's been sick for 5 days. Which basically means he sleeps in about four hours longer than normal, eats less, and tells me to find a good husband and that he loved me very much. (Notice past tense.) Although he insists that the ibuprofen doesn't help, he keeps taking it from me when I offer it to him. As far as the man stereotype goes, he is a very chipper & tough sick man. As far as Ryan goes, he has become pretty dramatic. (Which is up .25 notches from his normal even-kill self.) So in summary, I've been taking care of a now-7-year-old medical student who is behind on his Pathology. As usual, I am more concerned than he is.
I decided yesterday when I have to severely repress my desire to smack my own head against the concrete wall because of stupid things that people say, I will do 20 push-ups. And I did 20 push-ups yesterday. And my hypothesis was correct: I did feel a lot better.
And with that, I leave you with a wonderful quote from Albus Dumbledore:
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