Posting for posting's sake...

So it's been a week since I've written anything of substantial worth, and if you're looking for it now, you'll be disappointed.

I went home this past weekend for my birthday and I got a lot of really cool things. I got the cutest little thing - it's a cell phone holder made out of stainless steal in the shape of a little person - you just put your phone in the center and it makes the phone look like a little person! And I got the movie Jane Eyre (which I have wanted for sooooo long!) and The Village (which made me very, very, very happy - I love that movie!). I got The Forest House, by Marion Zimmer Bradley, and I already have a hard time putting it down. And then my parents got me a pair of Rainbow sandals - they are so comfortable! Well, not right now, since I missing part skin on the topside of my toes, but once I break them in, they will be the most comfortable shoes I own, not that I own so many.

I find myself again writing that I am sore all over. Yesterday, we did an active circuit outside, using proper fitness walking form to go between stations of curl-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, and squat-thrusts. I had no quarrel with any station, except for the squat thrusts. You see, squat-thrusts and I go way back, all the way back to FFA camp, when we'd be woken out of a blissful sleep at zero-dark-thirty and rushed outside to do morning exercises. We always ended with squat thrusts. I am not an athletic person. Let me say that again: I am not an athletic person. Squat thrusts soon became the scourge of every day for me. I hated how much they could make me hurt afterwards, and I hated grinding my hands into the hard asphalt, and I hated doing them until my arms could barely support me, and my legs could not. I felt that since I was at camp for purely non-athletic reasons, that I should not have to do such an exercise that could potentially injure someone with the same mammoth proportions from their neck down as me. But did them I was forced to do, a fact which probably has contributed to my dislike of them the most. So, squat thrusts were a figment of my past that I could happily forget. But would they let me forget them? No, of course not. No sooner had my PE professor said the words "squat thrust" than I was inwardly cringing. I found myself dreading that one corner of the track where we did that particular exercise, but I always did my best and gave my full effort, and now what have I got to show for it? Aching arm, leg, and back mucles, that's what. Have I complained enough?

I have more news, I promise, but I'm being drawn to my new book like a moth to the flame (though hopefully I shall not meet the same distatrous fate).