One of the neighbors put an old exercise bike out with the trash. I asked and was graciously welcomed to claim it. So it's sitting in front of my television. I have no excuse not to use it. Please remind me of this the next time you see me.
Then Rick and I went to Tar-jay and I got sucked in by the sign advertising inline skates for thirteen bucks. I insisted on trying them on in the store, which I'm sure was very amusing. When I got home with them, I just had to try them out even though it was after 10 pm and I'm sure the neighbors thought I was nuts. Then again, most of the neighbors had Saxby Chambliss yard signs so I really don't give a shit what they think of me. (Except for the nice neighbors who gave me the bike. They're cool.)
The thing is, so far I haven't made any actual progress learning how to really skate because for some reason, my body is convinced that falling down is going to hurt like hell and therefore I can't really bring myself to do anything but baby steps. I don't fall, but I don't learn either. The irony of this, of course, is that I do things that will probably hurt like hell on a regular basis without even thinking about it (which is probably why I do them. If I were smart enough to think them over I might not). But a friend has loaned me some protective gear so maybe I'll stop being a wuss and learn.
I'm sure there's a metaphor in that somewhere.
Which is worse?