Another Sunday

After a meltdown over some incredibly grotesque pictures of myself taken over the holidays—the sort in which you go: "Hey, who’s that fat, ugly broad, and how did she get a hold of my son?"—I finally started working out again, 45 minutes a pop. Now I just have to move it to earlier in the evening, plus add something in the morning (ha, ha), and that unsightly flab will (no doubt) fall off in chunks. Of course, then I also have to maintain it even in the face of the new semester’s schedule, which starts next week...but yeah, modified my diet again, and I’m drinking water, and I suppose we’ll see. It’s a boring, trivial, utterly predictable New Year’s resolution, yet mine own.

Other stuff I want to do this year: Draw. Dance. Start having a regular monthly (or weekly) movie night, which I'll probably kick off with a Godfather-a-thon. And write, write, fucking WRITE. And never give anything I produce to those guys at Wildside, ever ever again.

Meanwhile, I never rec, mainly because I’m so damn crappy at it. But I’d like to point anyone who appreciates A) Prison Break and B) the maniac Southern decadent stylings of one Theodore "T-Bag" Bagwell to alazysod, who’s quickly becoming to Monsieur Bag what I am to Vern Schillinger, except—frankly—better. Compact, sensual, creepily detailed, utterly understandable. Ve-ry nice, which is to say not at all.;)

Next weekend'll be fun, anyhow. Battlestar Galactica.2 on Saturday, new 24 on Sunday. And though I'll probably be exhausted from teaching, every new class I have nevertheless represents two more hours spent outside this bloody apartment, away from my wonderful but drainingly demanding child.

Oh yeah, and my Shivers VI money should be coming sometime soon, which is good, because we need it. After which, Thrillers 2 (I hope, I plead, I pray). Life may be looking up.

P.S.: New Lion in Winter icon, by poisoninjest! Man, she rocks.