Fritz is flopped at my feet, apparently exhausted from his long day of lounging, sleeping and lounging. He's starting to show his age - like I'm one to talk!
These wet, dark, dreary starts to my day zap my energy. Maybe it's the thirty minute commute of me hunched over the steering wheel, driving glasses perched on my perky nose, trying desperately to see the dotted lines on the highway. [Note to self: check date of last eye exam] It doesn't help when the lanes are jammed with transport trucks leaving a wall of spray on my windshield, blocking the centre lane. By the time I get off the highway my shoulders are up around my ears and I am desperately in need of a yoga intervention. [Note to self: investigate yoga for stiffs]
The crummy rainy weather means I skip my much needed [understatement] noon hour jaunt, and spend yet another hour on my backside in my cube. I am bringing new meaning to "static". And how ironic that the less I move, the more tired I am.
So I talked it over with Fritz and we are both going to make more of an effort to work our joints and move our tails. After all, we aren't getting any younger...