2 Weeks Down, 1 To Go

And the last week will be the hardest week to complete yet. My bed calls for me to come back every morning as I tumble out of it, and reach to turn off my alarm clock. Even Sarah (our puppy) sees 4:45am as some unGodly hour that she refuses to bounce out of bed at. Her hazel eyes stare at me every morning, mocking me; taunting me. She sighs, groans a little, and then flops back onto her side in her gigantic bed that could double for a small child’s mattress.

I get dressed in the bathroom with the door closed so I don't disturb her Highness (or Michael for that matter) anymore. Sometimes she walks me to the door, most often times not anymore. I drive to the gym and log my 45 minutes. Usually by now I'm awake and it's somewhat bearable. Thank goodness for my smart phone and Netflix account. My 45 minute time interval is perfect for watching an episode of BSG. For you non-scifi fans, that's Battlestar Galactica; only the best show to be filmed in deep space since Star Trek.

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I only have a couple days to go now. I'm pretty sure I can do it, but there will be complaining. There will be some whining. Sorry, Michael (although jokes on you; if you never read this you'll never see your apology). You knew it would end this way. The bitching and moaning was an unavoidable side affect.

Nothing much has changed from the first two weeks as far as side effects go. My hair still goes back in a pony tail and I still turn into a pumpkin at 8:30. However, bippity boppity boo! My feet don't hurt anymore. Tying the laces a little tighter fixed that.

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Please fairy Gym Mother, help me get thru one more week. That’s all I ask.