Anyways, it's fun, even if I have a tendance to 'swim' with the awkard, rigid form of an offended housecat who's been chucked in against her will. That's once I scrape together the balls to actually let go of the kickboard, of course. And I thought I had a nicely working cardiovascular system but it turns out I don't so it feels like a nice workout.
That pisser I've been in has been lifting. It's miraculous what a day spent writing, working out and cooking can do. Today, I don't go to the stupid office until two, which is good because I have more writing to do. Including the fucking, fucking Christmas cards which I suppose I should just dress up as PC and call New Years' cards at this point. I don't know what the big problem is with writing Christmas cards, but every year it's a pain in my ass. Putting together the list of who to send to (which I've already done) is the worst part, although this year it's rather better. Simply because this year I have fewer 'estranged friends' - you know, the sort who said something that you interpreted as deeply insulting either about you or your mother so you stopped returning their calls, and now you're wondering if you were right to be insulted, and maybe now is the time to send them a little note that indicates at the very least you wish them more good than harm, and it'll all be fucking Christmassy and great.
And you know? I have no idea if I have fewer estranged friends because I don't take offence as easily, or because I'm better at forgetting people, or because I've actually got to a point in life where I choose friends who are pretty inoffensive. No idea at all.