Terry Bradshaw.

Back much better today, probably because I did virtually nothing yesterday aside from reading the New York Times (not all of it – the Kindle version makes it less guilty-making to skip sections) and kid lit (From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler – if you, like me, didn’t read it as a kid, you’ll probably still find it totally entertaining comfort reading) and being slept on by the cat (better than a hot water bottle, right?). Of course, now I really want to go to New York City rather than go to work.

(I did go to breakfast, but the walk home was excrutiating and turned me into a total cow, so I hid from the universe (mostly). It’s not a bad day to spend a Sunday, though.)

Now that self-pity isn’t my only thought process, I’m also using today as an opportunity to reset my eating habits. Did you know that sitting around eating cookies and lasagna all weekend will make you feel like crap? Recommitting to veg and fruit consumption and good protein from…now. I don’t think chocolate chips are healing food in the way that I want them to be.

(I also had some strong microbrew beer on Saturday night that totally did a number on my guts. I don’t know if it was the strength or the ingredients, but I won’t be buying it again.)


My protest of the Superbowl (about which CTV proudly boasted that they had ten hours of coverage) was not to turn on a television or tune into a radio all day. But, as I did check in on Facebook and Twitter, I probably could reconstruct the game through my friends’ (and their friends’) comments. But I won’t, because I actually don’t understand American (or Canadian) football and don’t care to ever learn. It will forever be the sport that got ‘Futurama’ and ‘Space: Above and Beyond’ cancelled through weekly pre-emption because it takes 20 minutes for one minute of play. Nuts to the NFL.

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