Story is waiting, laptop open with damn blinking cursor sitting at the end of a hard fought to finish sentence. Taking a sip of water I'm lazy and some spills down my shirt. Damn, why is this shirt so tight? Oh yeah, it's ten years old and I am not the same size I was ten years ago. My eyes go to Gandy on my screensaver, gorgeous with his six pack abs.
I don't know if I ever had a six pack, Shit, didn't I promise I was going to start working out? I haven't, ooh I know I remember when I lived with this body builder dude (sadly no sex involved, just a roommate) and when he started training a chick he had her start with a hundred crunches every day. It was a way to remind her of all the hard work and they were relatively easy even for people not used to working out. Hmm...I'm not doing anything. The last sentence sucked, I'm not going anywhere with this. How long could a hundred crunches take?
Okay, down on the floor. How do I do these again? Okay, ten down not that bad. Twenty...fuck where's my inhaler. Don't be such a big baby, breathe deep keep going. Thirty okay, slow down this isn't so bad. Forty, I'm almost half way done. Fifty, cramp of agony OMFG cramp of agony. Whimper and flail about as I try to uncramp. Water, dear god I need water. Half the water bottle gone. Inhaler puffed. Fuck, I was half way there. Come on, no pain no gain...
I'm laying on the floor with my hands behind my head for too long to admit to. Alright pussy, get to it. Sixty, okay this isn't so bad. Seventy look at that not even breathing hard. (Although it might have to do with me giving a five count after my head hit the floor before doing another.) Eighty, look at that, almost there. Ninety, water-I need water. Cramp? No, oh thank god. Just ten more to go, you can do it.
One hundred, Oh god I did it. I really did it. That is so awesome. I look to Facebook, maybe Twitter to post then nearly pass out on bed huffing and puffing. Okay, maybe later.
Two hours later and I've written about a thousand words and every time I move I'm reminded of the hundred crunches, woo hoo. I did it. Okie doke bed time.
The next morning is errands, I'm feeling good, walking tall and straight. I consider sharing my hundred crunches achieved a few times as I go about my day but I stop myself and simply smile smugly. Once I'm home the words start flowing and before I know it, it's after one in the morning. Damn, I wanted to do the crunches again. Tomorrow I promise myself.
I wake slowly and breathe deep. Holy fucking shit!!! The breath is trapped in my chest. What the hell? I attempt to move to get out of bed but pain is blinding, shooting from my lower abdomen out in an angry buzz of warning not to move or it will get worse. What's the matter with me? What could I have possibly done to suffer-oh shit. The hundred crunches. No way, I felt fine yesterday and crunches are lower abdomen why does it hurt to breath deep. Shit, I have to pee, now-like right fucking now. I start to push myself up and the pain is so bad I almost piss myself then and there. Oh hell no. Lowering myself back on the bed I blindly think of the best way to get out of bed quickly with the minimum of pain.
Putting my left foot up I push myself off the end of the bed and my feet hit the floor. Ow, ow, ow is all I can mutter as I go into the bathroom. Thirty seconds later, I'm relieved and calling myself a long list of names that call my intelligence into question. Okay, I'll make breakfast and pop some painkillers and it should take the edge off. Moving to clean up, pain explodes, that was bad. Really bad. Deep breathes you big baby. You can do this, move fast don't scream and do it. Whimpering, I bite my lip so badly I'm pretty sure it's bleeding.
Now to get up. Oh come on, it can't be this difficult. But it is, it really is. Tears running down my face I wash my hands and walk stiffly and very carefully to the kitchen. I drop some toast and pour out more over the counter pain meds than I'm sure is safe. Forcing the toast down I pop the painkiller and then hobble to the chair in front of the television. I sit there for hours although the medicine helps, it only knocks it down to a throbbing nine instead of a twelve.
And that's the reason why when I want dick around and not write I'll be on Facebook or Twitter. How was your week?