It's the gym hour right now. Instead I'm dressed and ready for work. I stepped outside with a cup of coffee and watched the Kobes run around in the back yard doing his doggy hop through the snow. Today is "leg day", followed by 30 minutes on the treadmill. Instead I'm considering Tim Horton's for breakfast, maybe even McDonalds. I've let the gym slide over the past weeks. There's always an excuse. First it was school: "I just don't have the time!", and then it was "School is done! Let's celebrate with a Mars bar!", and now that it's Christmas I say: "But it's Christmas. Let's have a crantini and a turtle!". Excuses, excuses.
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I don't like kids. Well, except for my guy, but he's a teenager and knows better. Don't get me wrong, I think they're cute and all, but only if they're babies and they're quiet. Why do they have to scream and wail? Why exactly? I think they do it just to annoy me and so I say to my man: I'm so glad we've decided not to have any. They're annoying.
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I've become a bitch at work. I noticed it yesterday. I never used to be this way. Maybe it's time for a change. I posted my resume on Workopolis.
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A month tomorrow and I will be in Jamaica. Coconut rum and jerk chicken will become my daily staple. Ya mon. Apparently there's a gym at the resort and I have my excuse all ready: "I'm waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too hung over. Let's go eat."
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