There’s nothing like blood flow to get the neurons firing. Endorphins RULE! At about the 20 minute mark, my mind was doing this:
Yeah, baby, the Tectrix Climbmax 150 got owned today! OK, so I did 30 minutes, but the last ten was all will power because the big fella wanted to screw the step ups in exchange for a serious ass down. It felt great to have the ipod workout mix cranking and the latest issue of Men’s Health propped up on a homemade magazine rack. Now I may even read that issue of Vanity Fair Barb gave me a couple months ago. You know, so I can stay in touch with the culture of ink on paper and their photography… or something. At a minimum I’ll check out the pictures of Beyonce.
Every high has a comedown so here’s the one for this post. At some point this week I wondered, “Where will I be buried?” The thought was prompted by a discussion with Jessica about her Grandfather’s gravesite. It’s over in a cemetery near my um, marital home. We used to take the kids walking through there. Gigi’s dad is buried there and her mom purchased a plot. Anyway… I don’t think I want to be buried where I currently live. Actually, I don’t want to be buried. I want to be frozen like Teddy Ballgame and then shot into space toward Pluto. There, in an icy dark world, I’ll feel right at home. The Plutonians will remove me from my space-crypt and reanimate me so I can hang with them. I’ll have my iPod and some pictures of the kids. Even though Pluto isn’t a planet anymore, it’ll still be cool.
Who will end up with my tapes?
Who will pay my credit card bills?
Who’s gonna pay for my mistakes?”
Patterson Hood / Drive-By Truckers
© Soul Dump Music (BMI)