The Wagon

Get me out of my rut, and I don't know what to do; I'm helpless. Well, a trip to Iowa did it, and I am milking it for all it's worth.

I fell off of the exercise wagon. No, that's not right: I swan-dived, I belly-flopped, while in full possession of my rational faculties [actually, I have never been in full possession of those], I leapt off of the exercise wagon [joyfully]. Probably the most rational act I have committed this summer.

Now, if anyone out there has been following the saga of our dalliance with the P90X nut-case exercise routine, please do not be too disappointed. I have been warned by the boss that the clock starts again, exercise, diet, discipline, the whole nine-yards, on MONDAY. Tony, the Chief Inquisitor, walks behind the proverbial wagon, hog-tying escapees and bodily chucking them back onto it, and he is coming for me. So--Monday is the day.

But this is Saturday, so I am taking full advantage: Snickers, Pepsi, apple pie, ice-cream, and other health foods are on my menu--until Monday. Then it's back to tree bark and water.