Russell started physical therapy yesterday. It happens to occur at a place that has a gym. I can visit said gym. This morning, I spent 20 whole minutes, cursing my big fat ass on an elliptical trainer.

Now, I'm only cursing my thighs. And my shoulders. And my ankles. A little.

My husband, however, made me mp3's on my pda, which I listened to, while cursing my big fat ass, and humming along.

Red Hot Chili Peppers makes some good workout music, I tell you wot.

Tomorrow is another day of that. Then I may even get motivated to walk up the hill. Pigs also might fly out of my butt, but I can dream, right?

I have two months of Russell's therapy, which gives me two months to feel comfortable hiking my big fat butt over the hillside with less than embarrassing effort.

Oh, today, I've been calling all over God's creation for Mell, getting in Public Service Announcements for the play and asking to see if I can con any of them into running a promotion for us, so we can get more chairs filled at the Community Center.

I can DREAM, can't I?

Wait, the apnea is better. I CAN dream.

Thanks.