Hey, neato, new treadmills and more of them! I hate (no hyperbole) the interface on the new treadmills, but it's endurable in exchange for new treadmills and more treadmills. My first run in months was a bear, but still felt grand. It's a principle I've learned over and over and over again and yet never seem able to take to heart: virtue is its own reward, Mike, and you consistently feel like a million bucks when you do the things you know you're supposed to do. Sloth is like pornography, it's fun, but ultimately leaves you feeling sick to your stomach. Keep running, to spite the dark bastard if for no other reason.
Perchance to Dream
I was aware of dreaming on both of the past two mornings. Yesterday, the dream was like an old eight millimeter home movie, grainy and distant; the reel consisted of randomly ordered scenes of the late, lamented Tiger lazing about the house, standing on window sills looking at the world beyond, trying her best with paws sans claws to eviscerate a feathered lure at the end of an elastic cord. It was grand, for was the first time since Tiger's death that I'd thought about her without the exercise being tinged by sadness; instead, I was just glad to see my pussycat again acting as the pussycat I loved. It was great knowing you, Tiger. I love you. Goodbye, kitty.
This morning, I dreamt an entire, original episode of Psych. Shawn and Gus; Lassiter and O'Hara; no Abigail, curse the luck. If I could remember what it was about, I'd write it up as a spec script and send it in. Alas, that's not the way with dreams, again curse the luck. Oh yeah, "my episode" featured the regular (which is not to say it's anything less than super awesome) theme song; had I any conscious control over the proceedings, I'd have inserted the special Hindi/English theme song from the episode "Bollywood Homicide" (which, curiously, didn't feature a single homicide): Hindilink.
The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day
Paramore, "The Only Exception" from Brand New Eyes (T.L.A.M.)