No matter that I feel like somebody scraped the inside of my head with a spoon.
That was enough work for today.
I'm now trying to talk myself into going climbing tonight, despite having cramps and a bad case of donwanna brought on by groveling through Uncle Sam's yearly requirement of bureaucracy.
Come on, Bear. Kill another hour and go to the gym. You'll feel better if you climb.
So. Incredibly. Lazy.
217.7 miles to Lothlorien. Maybe I should eat some soup.
Isn't this journal much less interesting when I'm not actively writing?