Tuesday, January 27, 2009

I don't have the right

Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I'm only writing this because I told this guy in work that I was going to.* I filled my twenty in a month quota ages ago. I owe you bastards nothing. But this guy you see, he reads, from time to time. Reads Stranded, I mean. Probably that was clear.



Little squeal.

It's going to be that sort of post today, folks. Hours out of the last twelve spent exercising? Five. You don't want to know. I want to tell you, but you don't want to know and what's more, I know that you don't want to know. So I'll refrain. My gist, my grist, is that I'm lacking the brain glycogen to properly construct, a point, elaborate, point, elaborate, point a lab rat at a conclusion post. That's just the way it fucking is.

Where was I?

That guy in the gym. Actually I thought I scared the poor fucker away. He's a semi-regular in the spin studio, an exerciser who mixes and matches, does his own thing, and maintains a varied and therefore doubtlessly much more effective fitness routine. So not a die hard, attend every class that Gimme gives, spinner. Sometime back in November I mentioned to him that I bleughed and he asked for the address. I gave it out. He hasn't been back to my class since. Until this evening.

He asked some polite questions about how hard I found it post everyday, and I went on and on about myself, as I am wont to do in these situations. One of the things that emerged from the uncontrollably babbling brook of my mouth was how I had only just let my New Year's posting resolution slip. (12.01 every weekday morning, stupid clip on Saturday, day off Sunday, occasional lapses allowed but always the bare minimum of 20 a month) but that I knew what I was going to wrote tonight.

I don't know why I said that. I don't know why I lie to almost strangers for no good reason. So in apology and recompense, gym guy, this one's for you:

Yeah, no, that was it.

*Can I end a sentence like that? To do so hurts my eyes and my brain.

18 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Sarah Gostrangely said...

Postin' bout postin' Gimme.

You've reached your zenith.

I have no idea what I'm saying btw. I'm commentin' bout commentin' at this late stage.

gimme a minute said...

I'm thinking this is a little closer to my nadir.

Conan Drumm said...

*You were going to... what?

Well that's a conversational grammarian gambit, right there. You did well to dodge it.

Red Leeroy said...

get him a stranded t-shirt.

Rosie said...

i could totally design those.

Rosie said...

fuck. i seem to be on repeat today.

gimmeaminute said...

Yes, yes! That was it exactly. Could do with a few more dots is all...

Red Leeroy:
I should. Or a box of the 'Stranded on Gaia' cereal that I'm working on.

Okay. I'd like it to be healthy yet full of Snickereses.

savannah said...

so it's come to that, eh?

(no idea what that all means, but it is fun to say...)


stipes said...

So, not about you today. Just some "gym guy", Hah

B said...

I've a goal of every weekday.

1.every day,
2.Then every day except bank holidays,
3.every day except bank holidays with a pop culture sort of thing on Sundays,
4.every day except bank holidays with a pop culture sort of thing on Sundays and a link thing on Saturdays,
5.every weekday except bank holidays

gimme a minute said...

It certainly appears to have done. Back to bicycles tomorrow. Or boring, boring fucking blog wars.

Now, you know better than that.

I hope he liked his post. I hope he likes me.

Goals are good.

But then so are White Russians and regularly the twain shan't meet.

savannah said...

blog wars?

gimme a minute said...

Really siúcra, you don't want to know.

stipes said...

Giving birth to a currant bun.
Who's Roisin Ingle.

stipes said...


gimme a minute said...

Wrong post? Is that a lack of perfection I detect?

She's a 'lifestyle columnist'.

stipes said...

com-fuckin-plete lack of that. yes. must concentrate more.

gimme a minute said...

Oh, the humanity.

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