Taxing My Energy

By: Ann Brown

Charles David shoes

Well, this was just a matter of time. I have arthritis in my fingers.

Great. I need one of those Stephen Hawking voice computers now and I just spent my last thousand dollars on Moroccan Hair Oil and acai berry supplements.

Well, maybe it’s not full-blown arthritis; I admit I self-diagnosed. It may be that I ate two jars of pickled asparagus last night and the sodium has turned my fingers into Mickey Mouse hands. I really thought that the diuretic effect of asparagus would cancel out the sausage-finger effect of the sodium. I based my entire day’s menu on that theory.

I put a lot of stock into my “canceling out” theory. I am employing it this very moment, in that tapping my toes vigorously while writing this post cancels out my need for working out today.

I’ve become a tad lax in my workout regime.

Hah. I cannot even write the words workout regime without ducking from the lightning bolt which is sure to smite me for egregious lying. Oh wait, ducking. I just ducked. Excellent. Stretching regime: check.

Since Molly passed away, I have stopped taking hour-long walks every day. Granted, by the end of her life, we weren’t so much walking briskly for an hour as we were, well, driving to Starbucks and sharing a muffin. But still.

Without a dog, it’s hard to get motivated to go outside and take a walk. I just feel…stupid. Especially with a leash and those plastic poop bags tied to my wrist.

I have descended into sloth Hell. Which, truth be told, is pretty fucking awesome. In fact, if I weren’t so worried about your judgment, I’d say instead that I have ascended into sloth Heaven. Where everyone lolls about and no one exercises and we all roll around on wheeled office chairs, even from our home offices to our kitchens to grab a handful of pistachio nuts and a Braeburn apple. And then we roll back to our home offices again. To catch a nap.

Yeah, I did. And it was awesome.

In sloth heaven, everything you need to do is drive-through. Everything. Haircuts. Dental work. Neighborhood bars. Higher education.

And sex? Yup. Drive-through. Like a carwash for your happy places. You just put it in neutral and let the sponges and rollers do their thing. Hot wax optional, but strongly recommended.

Okay, enough output for today. Time to roll my office chair to bed and take a nap.

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