I got out of bed this morning, much too early thanks to the dogs I'm watching. The mutts are habituated to breakfast at 5:45 or so. I, however, am habituated to selfishness, and a woofing snout in my face before daybreak is fully annoying. Rob and Rebecca get back this weekend, and I can't wait to pass these flea bags off to their rightful owners. (I'm just grumpy, they're actually fine canines)
Shutting the door and locking them out doesn't really work because of the cat. There's a kitty door in the closet, and if I shut the doors, he drives me insane with his incessant howling during the night. My dilema: weigh an early wake up call with a night of insomnia. Win, Win? Absolutely not.
So when I planted my feet on the floor this morning, I weighted the bum left foot and felt better than yesterday, happy to improve with each day. With my first step, my right arch twinged a little. I looked at the right sole and saw a big bruise. How did I miss that one? Focusing so heavily on my left foot, I must have ignored the pain in the right side because it was so dwarfed by the foot I thought was broken. Huh. This has been an interesting week, and it keeps throwing curve balls.
During my time on the shelf, I've realized just how much time I usually devote to climbing. In all honesty, every day that I go climbing, it takes at least 4 hours of my day. I've had to fill all that additional time during the day with something, and I've pretty much picked television, work, and reading, in that order. I was up until midnight last night, riveted by a Charlie Rose interview. I've seen all of the Tour de France stages, and am fully caught up on baseball at the moment. Hear about that big Dallas trade for Shawn Marion? I did. Did you read Matt Taibbi's roasting of Goldman in Rolling Stone? If you didn't, you should. Though you'll likely finish the article and wake up in a pool of blood because you repeatedly punched yourself in the face after the final paragraph. Not because it's poorly written, but exactly the opposite. It's so well written, and chronicles the depressing state of the American political economy.
Two nights ago, my buddy Jesse and I were inspired by Hebrew National's dollar hot dog promotion at Coors Field. And last night, my mom and I went to Mustard's Last Stand by DU. That makes two hot dogs for me in two days. A record. So in addition to lazing around on my ass while I've been infirmed, I've been eating crap. And I've been loving every minute of it! Regardless, I'm foaming at the mouth to get back to a regime of climbing for tens of hours every week. A quick side story about Mustards:
They have a location in Boulder, and at one point during my college career, I applied for a job there. Under related experience, I plainly wrote, "No hot dog stand experience," thinking that the tough, Chicago themed restaurant would appreciate my no nonsense attitude. They never called me back. I spent the summer coaching lacrosse camps, instead, and it was glorious!
I gotta get back to work, but I wish you all a fine summer day.
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