It's Just Like Reality TV, Only Without the TV!

For the past two-and-a-half weeks, I've been inspecting substrates at work. For those of you who don't know, this is a tedious and often physically taxing job, requiring me to spend much of my day hunched over a comparator or microscope performing the same inspection over dozens and dozens of tiny pieces of graphite. Also, it's not my job. Unfortunately, however, Dawn had to have surgery, so I have to fill in for her until she recovers.

The best part about inspecting substrates is that, since it involves no mental commitment on my part whatsoever, it leaves my mind free to wander wherever it will. Since my mind seems to be inextricably preoccupied with this woman, I typically come home from work full of self-loathing and despair.

So I decided it was finally time to make some kind of change in my life. Yes, I decided to join a health club. I figure getting in shape could only make me feel better, and might even provide me with the confidence to actually pursue feminine attentions (it's a long shot, I know, but we'll see what happens.) So last Friday I put on my new track pants, hopped in my car, and headed to the Life Time Fitness down the road. I circled the parking lot once to try and determine the best place to enter the facility, finally deciding on the big glass area in the middle of the building. Unfortunately, however, all I could see through the windows were treadmills. Not that I have anything in particular against treadmills, but I was specifically looking for some sort of help desk or information center; there was no such thing to be seen. Not quite sure what to do, I tried opening the nearest door, hoping there might be some indication within as to where a first-time visitor should go. The door, however, did not open. At that point, I noticed someone else enter through a different door, so I walked in that direction, only to find two asinine-looking jock types standing on the other side. They didn't look like they would have barred me from entering the building, but I found their mere presence rather offputting. So, I kept walking, back to my car. I went home to change pants, then went out for a French Dip sandwich. The sandwich was probably the best part of the entire day.

So, my health club plan failed, but the next day I set out with renewed vigor... to my parents' house. I bought lunch, then we went to see "The Matador." Also, it turns out they had a set of weights lying around that no one was using, so they let me take them home with me. They also had a 10-year-old booklet with a workout routine, so I took that, too. Now I can get in shape in the comfort of my own apartment without any monthly dues or obnoxious jock-types watching and laughing at me. Fricken' jocks. I'll show them.

It's going well so far. I've only done the routine twice, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to keep it up on an every-other-day basis. I'm still a bit stiff and sore from the workout last night, but in a way that makes me feel good about myself. And frankly, the physical stiffness is much preferable to the mental numbness I'd been living with. So wish me luck, and hopefully the next time you see me I'll be able to open that pickle jar with no problems.

Until then, just use a chainsaw.