In what's as close to a Sunday morning ritual that I've been able to keep, I listened to a country gospel CD—which is about as close to church as it's going to get for me—and I read this week's PostSecrets while I finished up my coffee. Delicious Sunday mornings.
I forced myself back to the gym this afternoon, where I'd intended to do 60 minutes on the treadmill, but ended up doing 30 minutes on the elliptical machine instead—for a 556-calorie burn. I listened to my two newly-purchased Lady Gaga songs—Bad Romance and Alejandro—among other songs, during my workout.
When I first got there, I checked to make sure the change to my membership billing that I did over the phone last week was accurately reflected in my record. It was not. Annoying.
A few minutes after I started, a guy got on the machine to my right, and for a second I thought it was an old IBM colleague of mine. And then it occurred to me that it couldn't possibly be him—remembering, "Oh yeah, he committed suicide."
I arrived at Jen's house right at 5:00 for our third "Glee Club" meeting. We watched the Throwdown, Mash-Up, and Wheels episodes, and once again, I was tore up over a scene between Kurt and his father, around Kurt's audition for the female lead part in the glee club's performance of Wicked's Defying Gravity. Gay men and their fathers.
I spent the rest of the evening at Cup A Joe Mission Valley, making online Scrabble moves in my three ongoing games as it became my turn in each, and writing yesterday's and this blog entry.