So…. it turns out that one of the ports on my computer works really really well with my cable, and the other two not so much. Hint: it’s the one with the matching picture. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, the other two ports actually do WORK, which prevented me from seeking the correct… oh hell with it. Wanna see some fiber porn?
I wannabe… the kind of person – or blogger- that posts often enough to keep you interested, but not so often you get tired of me (that’s what Facebook and Twitter and whatever youkidsgetoffmahlawn are using these days to keep in touch are for). But, truth, it’s easier to do that when things are easy, or if I’m really really angry about a thing that’s happening (I’m looking at you, Supreme Court, and mostly you, Scalia) or if something amusing is going on. And it hasn’t been that kind of week.
Since my boss as good as announced on Friday that I’d be working this weekend, I figured I’d better have a project ready to go that could stand some interruptions. Lengthy ones. Really lengthy ones.
Other than an utterly plain sock, I couldn’t think of anything much that I wanted to make… and then I remembered I’d been meaning to buy some wrist wraps for Crossfit (crossfit? do we capitalize it? I suppose we must, blah branding, blah, God, I’m a terrible IP lawyer).
When I looked up wrist wraps for purchase, I was frankly appalled. Really? $20 and up for a 3″ strip of quilting fabric? I really do understand that artisans need to make a real wage too, and I certainly estimate $50/hour and up for my production time on projects and I believe it’s fair… but there’s a point where I balk. Maybe it’s worth it to me to pay for a thing I really won’t make, but…
I made the very mature determination yesterday not to go to the gym today. No, really. After a week that started with an obstacle race last Saturday, and included Fight Gone Bad on Wednesday and working on snatches yesterday, my legs are smoked, and Saturday WODs always involve running. This year has been rough on my body, with my Achilles tendons mysteriously tight and cramping after only a mile or two every time I run despite spending the last two years running half marathons with no trouble at all… and I need to heal.
But it’s hard.
You guys. you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys you guys.
Or, you guy. Or girl. Whoever is the only, lonely person following this blog right now. And, uh, all you people that wanted to start at the beginning when I wrote something fabulous and got internet famous.
You know how sometimes you have things to say that just don’t fit on Facebook? Or Twitter? Or whatever the kids are using these days? And your livejournal account, let’s face it, is mostly just a bunch of fanfic and you only use it anymore to stalk people you used to feel really close to? And then your friends start pressuring you to actually blog and they’re like “oh, you remind me of [insert really cool blog here]” and your ego gets all stroked and then you have this conversation: