On the list of a dozen self paced homework options are two “pass” days.

Today is one of them.

For the first time in weeks months, The Mc wasn’t working into the wee hours. He wasn’t even distracted by the fact that he wasn’t working until the wee hours.

So I slept.

My duties as Most Wonderful Girlfriend on the Planet are vast. To fulfill the one that specifies I help him relax at the end of a long day, I think I passed out around 7:30.

Truth be told, I had every intention of finishing the laundry and packing for our weekend in Asheville (Gwen’s wedding!!) and didn’t; which means when the kitty alarm went off this morning I rolled over and said “I can’t work out, I have to pack.” Moving said laundry, I could feel my lats and my abs from yesterdays measly fitness spaz fest. If I hurt from 375 jumping jacks, the rest of the month is going to be incredibly interesting. It’s actually nice to feel my thigh muscles engage when I walk again. I’d forgotten I had any.

The sleep and exploitation so early of the “pass” is shameful, really, and a perfect example of the self discipline I lack that has resulted in the poundage and the requirement for bootcamp.

There’s irony in there somewhere, but I’m too tired and lazy to point it out. I blame it on the lack of queso and margaritas.

On a related note, I had to cook last night. Me. Cook. In a kitchen. With fire. Baked chicken breast (with loads of garlic), rice, steamed broccoli, even some salad.

I might die of malnutrition.