“’See, this is the problem with procrastination,” I declared to my cousin, nodding at the rain and gloom that had descended outside the car as we were making our way back home from lunch.

“Tomorrow may never come.”

At least, not when you want it to.

I skipped working out this weekend. Because my chest and lats hurt from all the push-ups and chin-ups from Friday night. However lame those push-ups and chin-ups might have been. I’m surprised that those assisted pull-ups even worked. I was pretty sure Fred and John were doing all the lifting, getting me over those bars without any help from my deadbeat self. Whodathunk…

So I was looking forward to getting right back into the kettlebell-swing of things today. I had my gym bag packed and ready to go…

It would have kept my break down to just two days and – more importantly – it would have excused me from working out tomorrow, saving myself from the horror that is otherwise known as Valentine’s Day Traffic.

I didn’t count on it raining goddam pussies and bitches.

[YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu_r0mCuwa8]

Sigh…

I hate being inactive. One day is fine. Two is acceptable, but only just so. Three absolutely isn’t.

Especially since I’ve been eating through that stash of chocolates that I’m not supposed to have. Er… among a lot of other things that I’m not supposed to have…

Gaaaaah!

So I have to suck it up tomorrow and slug my way through the roses and whiskers on kittens. No more excuses.

I am so dreading it.

Life would be so much simpler if I didn’t have goals.

Wait. I have goals?