(Thanks for all your comments last time. Just to follow up, W4I, sadly there is no way you can sign up for more than one country. You make one pack and send it off and that's that. You can change, but it's a slight hoo-ha involving lepping through a flaming ring and not much encouraged by The Authorities.)
Where did that week go? Huh. I must warn you I'm quite hungry and I must apologise in advance for misspellings/more nonsense than usual in this post due to this. If writing while hungry is anything like supermarket-shopping while hungry, we are in for a lot of impulse purchases of cheesy crackers. Also, gourmet crisps. And hummus.
(Janey Mac. Is Pu-erh tea meant to smell like feline bodily fluids? My tenants left it in the apartment: it is what the JB refers to as a Spoil of War. Bleargh. I know it's supposed to be All Fantastic for you in some way that I don't exactly recall, but nothing short of a hundred years of well-being could be worth it.)
So. Where were we? Well, I did get round that Awful Thing also known as The Mini-Marathon. It was a warm day and for whatever reason my hoped-for second wind or Stride-Getting-Into thing didn't kick in leaving me with no options but to adopt a sort of sad Shuffle of Despair. My time wasn't so bad, but it was all very leaden and unpleasant. I had trained, I feel obliged to point out, but the Californian lady in my ipod said her CONGRADULATIONS YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR GOAL OF (pause) 10 KM way way before the race ended. Thus I conclude my training sessions were not as long as they should have been. At any rate, I was red as a beetroot for the rest of the day, with legs of chewed string.
The India vs USA debate continues to be a bit of a pain-in-the-arse. In the past, in the singleton manifestation of the Twangy, I was very much of the Throw Yourself on the Mighty Wind mindset when it came to making decisions. I just went with my gut, without over-thinking things. If it felt right, I would go Nike and Just Do It. However, with another person in the mix, one who is more of a spreadsheety, pessimistic type, my instincts are all thrown off. He wakes up every day and adds more speculative information and what-ifs to the Balance Sheet of Probabilities and my little tiny mind gets all misted up and confused. At this moment, we are semi-agreed to stay with India. Tomorrow, who knows?
Speaking of the husband, it is his birthday next week. A lofty 39. I am getting him The Killing 2, because we like to go around saying “Forbrydelsen” and "Tag", and zazzle are kindly printing a tee-shirt for him, thus emblazoned:
It's a wolf in sheep's clothing, in case that wasn't clear, and refers to a long-standing marital joke which I won't bore you with. You're welcome!
So, my dears, that is where it is at. Time to publish this - er - "post" and get some food.
This week has been terribly worky chez moi, has it for you? Feel free to lament about this and/or anything else. And have a lovely weekend.