The people across the street live in what I call the junk house. Their yard is littered with garbage and broken things. This morning, I was amazed to see a man cleaning up. He was picking things up and sticking them in a garbage bag. At one point, he got something sticky on his hand. He kept wiping it on his pants, then finally gave up and licked it off.
The night before last, I dreamed I was buffering happiness.
Sometimes I love my subconscious.
I've been continuing on my burpee challenge. Today is day 69. Some days are harder than others, but I've yet to miss a day. Though I'm not done, I call this experiment a success. About three or four months ago, I hated burpees. The thought of them filled me with a serious case of the oh-nos. But now they're no big thing.
Yesterday, on my FaceBook wall, I ran a little experiment. I put up this graphic:
By my cut-off time of 10:45 pm (I wanted to go to bed at a decent hour), I'd gotten 213 likes. I spread them out in groups of 10 throughout the day, on top of my 68 burpees, and guess what? Like the burpees, it was no big thing.
I'm not even sore today, which surprises me. I guess I've levelled up again.
A few peanut gallery strangers showed up on my FaceBook wall and gave commentary. One expressed doubt that I'd go through with it. I can't help but wonder why he would think this, especially of someone he doesn't know at all. Maybe it's because he's projecting. Maybe because he wouldn't do it, he assumes the same of others. I find that peculiar and sad.
One other stranger showed up and said that people encouraging me to do push-ups was taking away from attention on world hunger. Time spent clicking "like" on my image was ostensibly taking away from clicking on the click-to-give-a-dollar charities.