I am sweating like…

In my early 20’s, I’d give you a plethora of what a couple people called “Ericaisms” to fill in that blank. In doing so, often times at work (Target in Fairlawn), I was once called the crudest person ever by a poodle-haired lesbian who was too old to have existed yet. And it wasn’t even after a great comment!! This was after I said I’m sweatin like a cop waiting for Krispy Kreme to open. Come on!! I can do (and have done) better than that! I’ll save those similes and metaphors for those in my world–because if I’ve learned one thing–it’s that I am too much of a lot of things for many people! And while the rest don’t count, anyway–I’m getting picky about who I entertain. Mostly because people are pussies. And they believe in being politically correct. And they’re softer on the inside than I am on the outside–which I am working on–both making myself harder on the outside and random strangers and acquaintances who find me repulsive and obnoxious harder on the inside. It’s a win, win, and a public service, really. You can thank me later. Back to soft on the outside.

I am doing a Beachbody workout called 10 Rounds, and that shit has me regretting what I ate in 1986!! I’ve got sweating running down my second chin like a convict on parole as we speak. It’s (the workout) one of those things I think I do because I hate myself but love myself at the same time. It’s the most difficult 40 minutes of my day!! When I am done, I am usually crying and looking for pizza coupons. Not really. I’m panting like a dog and thanking God I survived–because the last damn way I wanna go is by exercise!! Unless, of course, the aerobics are in my bed…then maybe. But honestly, I’d like to just go peacefully in my sleep, after I’ve eaten a large pizza and a sheet cake. Perhaps if I do it, I will. No one would ever suspect that. It’s not quite like jumping off a bridge or hanging oneself from her loft railings, you know. (These thoughts would be lost on my therapist, so I will leave them here. You should, too. Thanks.) Pizza and cake. And martinis. “These are a few of my favorite things.” Like Julie Andrews–who’s as old as Jesus now. Not really–but she did just turn 85. Happy Belated Birthday, Diva!! Back to workout (maybe??)–

People who run say a runner’s high is the best there is! Clearly those people have never had surgery! I was once on Tramadol, an Epidural, Dilaudid, Morphine, and Percocet at the same time–and I can promise you, friends–that’s the best high there is!! (I’d love to do that again, but maybe not have another lung surgery. Maybe just a fancy dope party with some doctors and surgeons.) And second best is the performance high!! I miss the stage like kids at fat camp miss pizza and cake. OOOOHhhh…pizza and cake. I need some asap! Is fat camp a real thing? Like conversion camp? smh. That reminds me of a movie called But I’m A Cheerleader. It’s hilarious and ridiculous at the same time. Watch it if you haven’t. Just make sure no children are present. If these camps are real, the mentality if the ignorant is lost on me. Onward and Upward!!

In this workout, the hot trainer likes to do a lot of core exercises. I can think of a few core exercises I could show him, but we don’t need an audience, a camera, or other trainers. Well…maybe just one more. Kidding!! About all of this. Maybe I should stop this nonsense and pray. I welcome (and appreciate) the prayers of others, too, thanks. The workouts always end in core exercises, and more time for me to think about and regret my entire life. Do I think it’ll cure me of my love for pizza or cake? Absolutely not! Will I eat pizza later and regret that?? Absolutely! Insanity makes sense, you know. Plus if that whole YOLO nonsense is still a thing, I intend to die happy. And happiness, my friends, is not like sweating like any damn thing. Goodnight. Much love, pizza, and cake.

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