This One Is Rather “Eff”-Intensive…

So.  Great.  Lovely couple of weeks these last were.

Another neighbor situation has gone DefCon and beyond.  Scratch another relationship.  Which begs the ages-old question:  “What do all of your failed relationships have in common, hmmmm?”  But ah!  Fuck you, questioner, because I can’t help it if wolves wear the latest wooly fashions now can I?

Wrenched the muscles of the right side of my shoulder and neck while performing a military press at the gym.  Lovely.  I have to pivot at the waist to turn my head in that direction…

…except NO, I can’t right now because I gave myself a lower back spasm yesterday morning.  From rolling out of bed.  Another speed-bump on my road to become the uber-athlete I know I am on the inside (and there should be those two dots over the “u” in “uber-” but I’m not keyboard-savvy enough to know how to do that).

Crunching numbers has led to the inevitable conclusion that I must seek more overtime at work (“more” in this case meaning “some” or “any” because I’m allergic to overtime and have been fortunate to avoid most of it for the last, oh, say, thirteen years; I likes my personal time and I won’t apologize for it).  Beyond that I may have to begin seeking options for a second income if we’re to make sufficient headway toward our goals.  If we’re to move to Albuquerque in two years’ time, we want to be as close to debt-free as we can manage.  Alas, most of the overtime in the next month is already claimed for…

**************WARNING!  BIKE STUFF!*****WARNING!  BIKE STUFF!*************************

…new wheels!  Yes!  I walked into the bike shop to get new brakes and a diagnosis for that damned tinking noise I keep hearing, and am informed in short order that my rims are close to collapse.  The sidewalls have actually been sculpted into a concave shape and apparently it was only a matter of (a very shockingly short) time before the wheels became less wheel-like in the rolling sense and more bomb-like in the spokey-shrapnel sense.

Thus instantly a $50 maintenance bill became a $150 avoidance-of-grievous-injury-and-maybe-even-death bill.  Which is actually pretty cheap when you consider having to be collected from the pavement and resuscitated is much more expensive, I know, but unexpected and unwelcome nonetheless.  Plus, in two weeks I  get to spend another $89 for the front wheel (I have only the rear replaced now; it was the worst) and the tune-up and cleaning I had slated to have done (another $99).  AND I have to finesse all this time-wise because it has to be in and out of the shop the same day during the week so that I don’t mess up my standing in the Commuting Bike Challenge.  Which means I have to ride the bike to work, have the missus pick me up to take the bike to the shop, take me back to work, then pick me up again to collect the bike, and take me back to work again so I can ride the bike home.

Wow.  I just realized this is not only stupid, it negates the leave-your-car-home-and-bike! ethic which is the main reason for the Bike Challenge.  Okay, I’m not doing that, and that means sayonara to my standings.  Fuck!

So.  Friendly relationship down the khazi.  Deepened debt.  Narrowly-avoided bike carnage and not-avoided Bike Challenge fuckage.  If this month so far was a fortune cookie I’d have sprained my thumbs cracking the fucker open.

Well.  Y’know?  It’ll get better.


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