It's My Day Off

I got up early. I took the dogs for a walk. The sun shone, the day was gorgeous.

By the time I got home, Boris was messaging me about some mistake I'd made at work, oops. Yes, I had stuffed something up, and it was a big fuck up. Damn! Oh yes, it would need to be discussed, and discussed, and no doubt discussed again. Anyone who knows the corporate world would know exactly what I was talking about.

But, and it is a but to my advantage, I'm off work until Monday, and I'll deal with it then. And when I managed to get myself to the gym, I stopped answering her. Nyr? Even if I have made a mistake, she's the manager, she can work it out. It's my day off, go away, I thought, as I gazed up the leg of a pair of gym shorts, gazing at the full, red jocks, of a guy doing weights at the gym, looking before I even knew I was looking, you know how that happens. Shake of my head, oh, erm, look away. Still, it reminds me there are more important things in the world than work, hey? (He was a good sort, nice muscular legs, lying on his back on a weight bench.)

Work it out yourself, I think, when I think of Boris again, after the chest press, after the leg press, after the lateral pull down, after the cable pull down. Stop for a drink of water, and all that other nonsense comes back into my head.

Grrr!

I gulp down my water and look for the next exercise machine on which to work out.