run, Forrest, run!

So far today I've done 3.33 of the things on my list of 14. Up next, the dreaded treadmill. I guess it's the Dreadmill. 1.5 miles. That's what I'm up to. It's not up to standard with a certain person who shall remain nameless -supposedly runs 15 per day. I don't doubt it, I just hate not being able to do something that someone else is doing. I'll get there eventually. Mark my friggin' words. Then I'll sit naked in the 3000 degree sauna, which resembles a very old and dark log cabin from the inside, for about a half hour. After which I'll come back to this monstrosity that I refer to as an apartment and go to town cleaning. Days off from work aren't really days off at all. They're only chock full of different sorts of work. Especially when you're a compulsive listmaker. It may seem neurotic and it may as well be, but none the less, shit gets done.