I bought a standing desk

I’m standing at it now. It’s the kind that you can move up and down depending on your mood.

I got it so I can start the long, hard climb out of fat-asseddom. (Again.) I sit all the time. Sedentary life sucks. We all know it. The least I can do is force myself to stand some while I’m working. Right? Yeah.

The end of the world

fortune

I got in to work today and saw this fortune peeking out from under my mouse pad, and for a brief, delusional moment, thought that it was a sign from The Cosmos, a comforting hug from The Universe, an obliging reacharound from Fate, and I got to feeling kind of — dare I say — upbeat. I wondered where it had come from, who had left it for me, and what he/she meant by it. Did someone get this fortune in a cookie and think of me and leave it? What was this mystery person trying to say? What did he or she know about my happiness that I didn’t?

Et cetera and so on.

And than I found out that my former cubemate, who’s moving to another office, had cleaned out his desk and found it and left it behind for me. Not quite as romantic that way, I suppose. But it was fun letting my imagination get carried away…

So I thought the world was gonna end. To celebrate, I bought $181 worth of groceries. Which basically amounts to a half gallon of milk and three boxes of cereal. I came home and threw out two bags of rotten/expired trash from my pantry and my fridge — stuff that has accumulated over the past few months that I’ve just been unable or unwilling to get rid of, despite the general funkiness. I think I have kitchen anxiety. I hate my kitchen and I don’t care to spend time in there, even the three seconds it takes to open the fridge, crouch down, get the container of rotten strawberries, and transfer it to the garbage. The room is tiny and stifling and was apparently designed by a crackhead. The refrigerator door doesn’t open all the way, therefore making half of its inside inaccessible. The kitchen has roughly three centimeters of counter space, which I devote to my purse and other things I slough off once I come through the door, so when I get groceries, I have to come inside and put bags on the floor. Which obviously means they are prime for kitty inspection. Which means if you were to place your ear on my door at midnight on grocery night (I can’t bear to grocery shop during the day), you would hear an unholy racket of human hissing and cuss words and galloping felines.

So, armed with a semi-clean fridge and a semi-stocked pantry and some semi-renewed ambition, I’m plowing ahead into a bit of a lifestyle change. Again. Gah, I hate saying that. I hate thinking that. But I have to. I’ve been a lazy piece of shit for the past, uh, seven months, and I’ve been backsliding on my attempts to be healthier — eating crap food and lying around all day and drinking way too much. I’ve gotten a bit too ample for my favorite jeans and I miss wearing them. Mostly I miss having energy and feeling strong and somewhat physically invincible.

Of course, I can’t say I’d have been too terribly disappointed if my lifestyle change got interrupted by the apocalypse. I told you, my ambition is semi-renewed.