Your face will get stuck that way

My mother never said that to me (no one ever said that to me, now that I think about it). What is getting stuck, however, is something I decided to do before the new year eve rolled around: hit the treadmill to work on getting back to where I was from a physical standpoint before the drawer full of meds I have to take and before the second round of cancer (fuck you, cancer!). That’s working out rather well, I believe, and at halftime of the Gator¬†Taxslayer Bowl I jumped on and got a walk in. That is session one. There are four games today, so I will make four dates with something, whether it’s walking the treadmill or pulling up more plants to add to the heap I’ve made out on one of the clay areas on the north side of the ranch that still needs more rehab. Whatever it is, it must be physical, since most of my “work” work involves sitting around on my ass doing things, and I really do need to be in shape for spring transplant time so I can make 2016 a much better production year from the gardens than 2015 could ever dream of doing.

Onward.

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