Feeling: pooped-y
Listening to: A Perfect Circle - The Hollow
Reading/Watching: American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

I am not sure why, but all day today, I was ohmygodsotired.

In theory, I got enough sleep, the restaurant was not (incredibly) busy (I think I had a maximum of five tables at one time, and I can handle up to six), and my Sunday did not include much intensive labor through which I might have become so exhausted.

But despite all these reasons, I am two seconds away from ::flop:: followed by "zzzz."

Not knowing this, mon coeur wants to re-institute our habit of going to the gym three times a week, starting tonight. It is an excellent idea (in theory), because rehearsals have gotten in the way of that (after spending evenings packing our belongings to move got in the way of it first). I have gained a few pounds, thanks to many late-night powwows with Bork after rehearsal, in which we go to Jim's or IHOP and I never rarely order salad. (Plus, he's doing that thing where he brings me the sweets he bakes for his restaurant, and tells me it doesn't matter if I gain weight because he'll still love me anyway... which is easy for him to say, because he never has to see me naked.) During Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, the dance routines were strenuous enough to count for my 20-30 minutes so that I didn't need the gym, but Brigadoon has a choreographer who believes that if you don't know the French terms for all the dance moves she's doing, you should just stand around and look pretty while the real dancers do all the work.

So yeah. Going to the gym. But tired as all fuck.

We'll see what happens when these two factors collide.

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