It turns out when I have a deadline for something there is actually no end to the levels of procrastination I will go to... so far today I've cleaned my room from top to bottom (I find if you do it bottom to top, the dust from the top falls down and it's a catch 22), I've done two loads of washing and now I've agreed to go for a jog with my housemate...
That is a true sign that I really don't want to fill in my Fringe Programme form.
Running alone is one thing, and one thing I'm not very good at... but running in a pair?? I tried to say no but he made it sound like a nice social event -
"We can have a chat, we'll call it a jog."
That seemed like a nice idea at the time. Now, I'm contemplating getting myself into shorts and wheezing round a park trying to run and talk at the same time while my whippet like housemate breezes past like Billy Whizz on a good day.
Oh holy crap. What the hell made me think this might be a good idea?
It's going to be quite difficult to fake an injury and get out of it given that we live in the same house and I'd probably have to throw myself down the stairs to prove I'd really done something. Even I think that's excessive...
I suppose this is going to be a good time to find out if the Cod Liver Oil pellets (they look like solid leaches) I've been taking for the last month have had any effect on the lubrication of my rubbish hip joints. Maybe, when I've got my shoes on, I'll be an absolute power house? Maybe my house mate will be lying in my dust crying about how beautiful the moment was.
There'll be kids and ducks steaming to get out of my way as the pond in Burgess Park twinkles in the sun light...
...or I'll return to my room in an hour or so, still a little flabby and bright red and still with an entire form to fill out.
Crap.
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