You know how, every now and then, you have the need to say something without flowery language, without pretense, because what you have to say doesn't need any dressing-up?

Yeah. Forty-five minutes at level eight, biznitches. (If you said "huh?" then read this entry for the explanation.)

One more level to go and then I will—finally—be back to my pre-pneumonia fitness level.

Whatcha wanna guess I want for my birthday? Admittedly, that's two days from now, but you know what? I think I might just have to go for it.

As flimsy excuses to drink go, I think this one would be better than most.