The last few days I've been working on Easter Craft; unfortunately, the paper I've been using in the paper cutter hasn't been the best--either too thick or too fibrous--and the cutter-plotter hasn't always produced the best cutouts. And then there's some design critique: "How come that bunny is in jail?" Mark asked of one product. "John," The Child said, "that bunny is staring at me with devil eyes." Ah well, Easter has got to be one of the roughest holidays.
On the gym front: went Wednesday and did the usual routine. I was particularly focused during the cable core curl on engaging my trapezoids, engaging my abdominals, keeping a wide stance, and keeping my hands at shoulder level as I slowly twisted away from the cable-machine and forced breath out of my body. My masseuse wandered by and complimented me on my form. I smiled and said, "thanks," instead of sharing the sublimely profane and intimate image pulsing through my fibre with each twist against the cable.
(Yes. I still remind myself--with an intensity like a Pre-Raphaelite Enchantress Invoking--that my husband Pointed and Laughed at my pre-gym pectorals and belly flab. Like Circe preparing a feast, or Daedalus stacking stones for the Minotaur's Labyrinth, I sculpt the biceps, pectorals, and trapezoids he now loves. It usually isn't a problem unless a combination of endorphins, imagery, or gym music strikes me as absurdly hysterical and I have to laugh maniacally.)
My back felt wonderful after the standing triceps cable extension.
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