Oh, why didn't I ever get that shirt from T-Shirt Hell? So, I have asthma and I use an inhaler. It's mostly under control -- I do use my inhaler pretty much daily at the gym. And then there is the occasional cold or allergy attack that leads me to be kinda wheezy and whatnot. But really, it's under control.
This means that the days of inhalers stashed around the house are gone. I used to tell people I was just like Annabella Sciorra's character in The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. That bitch had inhalers everywhere. I have one in my purse, a few at home (all in one place) and two in my gym bag, because one was pretty much empty.
Or so I thought.
I moved the ... that covered cardboard thing that holds that provides a solid bottom for your gym bag. You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, I moved that thing and there were like, five inhalers underneath it. What the fuck? They're all mostly empty. I guess I don't throw them away at the gym because they have my address on them or something. It kinda makes me seem a bit crazy.
Oh, but I am crazy. At least today. It's Day Two of my new pack of birth control pills, so I'm crazy angry. Yesterday I was in an excellent mood and I was fine most of the day today. However, by the time I left work, I wanted to punch someone (tomorrow I'll be paranoid and anxious!). Which makes it a perfect time to go to the gym, of course.
To all the sweaty assholes who don't clean machines when you're done: I hope you get a nasty case of pink eye.
To the jerkwads who stay on cardio machines for 45 minutes or any hour (or longer) when the club is super busy: I hope you get a horribly infected paper cut.
The The Bob Saget Fan Club who can't fucking score 50 goddamn points: Eat a fucking dick, you bastards. Okay, scratch that. I think Steve Slaton's garbage time touchdown right now puts me over 50 and gives me a one-point lead. THANK YOU JEBUS.