grenouilles & gym

I can hardly move my upper body today but am otherwise alive.
Changing gears on the way to work this morning was another story. Ow ow ow ow.

Had to write out a few stories last night for French homework, where the class would decide whether each was true or false.

In English, mine were:

1) Normally I hate any form of exercise. However today, I cycled 8 kilometres, did 30 push ups (no seriously, the dude at the gym said ‘Drop down and give me thirty,’ to test my ‘endurance’ for my assessment. Fuck me on a Kelim rug), and then 30 stomach crunches. Then I ran around the block.

2) My friend won the lottery. She didn’t win the whole thing, just R5000.

3) Last year was a big one for me. I bought a piano by mistake and published a book.

4) I made a huge meal for my family over the weekend, a French dish in particular. I bought frozen frog’s legs from the supermarket, and whacked them in the oven. It wasn’t good, but I tried.


Which stories are true and which are false?

(Considering one woman said she knows a pig that swims – and that was her true story – anything is possible.) Everyone thought my true stories were for real, and my false one’s were true.

I should do this more often. Confusing groups of people by means of pseudo-sophisticated calibration really is, de facto, rather fun.

They never thought anyone could buy a piano by mistake on the Internet, and really thought I cooked frog’s legs for my folks.

No sirree, not in this lifetime. And now the piano is out of tune because it’s been sitting next to the fucking office server for too long.

Had such a long and fantastic chat with E last night. She’s been back in The Pit for 2 months now, (previously having lived in Cairo for the past two years) and confessed that she’s feeling like a hermit and is it normal.

Yes! Yes It’s normal! Please say it’s normal? Welcome back to Johannesburg two years later –where then we were mucking about in pubs three times a week with the young, nubile kinetic energy only seen in 26 year olds!

We chatted for ages and she said, ‘Am soooo sorry for being a hermit.’

‘What? No I am. I am sorry. For beign a hermit.’

Yip, things around here are conducive to hermitage. She was preaching to the choir.
And the choir felt relieved.

She’s one of my best friends, and she understands. Although married and settled, she understands how I feel – as she feels the same.

Sometimes there are people sitting in my little lonesome boat. It’s comforting.

On gym, dude there – with the bulging calves – told me I was 1.70m tall. That means I’ve shrunk two inches. That can’t be right. Surely? Good God, panic. It’s one thing growing sideways, but shrinking? Do I LOOK like Eric Cartman?

The good news is I have almost no cholesterol. And that’s about the only good news. And I have low blood pressure. That’s better than high surely.