Cacophony of exercise-induced ramblings

OMG. This was like the busiest Friday ever. I had to be at work at 8:00 to pour a gel, and then to the field at 9:00. I rushed back for (yet another) job interview, and then went back the the lab until 4, when I left to go work out. I am planning to go to Sapphire and maybe (?) the Blue Note tonight. Tomorrow holds some retro Shattered? Only, time will tell.

I have been working out again—and I am going to be frickin’ ripped by the end of the summer—pics to follow. And ripped as in lightweight boxer—wiry—ripped (or svelte porn star ripped). Not big and gross ripped.

I just got back, and my vision is scotoma-ed-up and I feel like I am going to pass out. Someone call an ambulance, I feel like a frickin’ druggie. I have replaced my usual choice of Jesus (or oral sex?) with exercise as my new high.

It reminds me of a scene from FALILV:

Narrator: We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, laughers, screamers... Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.