So I am standing there, bare chested, and staring into the bathroom mirror while I brush my teeth. Suddenly, but maybe not suddenly enough, I realize that I haven’t consistently visited the gym since sometime in May. While fluoride and the taste of Crest fill my mouth, I take inventory and decide I will get in there first thing tomorrow morning. I rinse my toothbrush, turn off the light and head to bed.
"Eighteen inches of snow expected today!" What? At 4 AM the radio alarm delivers this gem. I know there is some aphorism about not shooting the messenger, but at this moment it seems an altogether jejune sentiment. I burp, taste stale beer, a souvenir from a day of watching football, and rollover to catch about three more hours of sleep. Drifting back to sleep I muse about the best laid plans.