Headed for the Danger Zone of Total Sloth

Friday night, the night lovers canoodle and old men hoist a pint, and all I did is play internet chess in my room. There's a pile of clean laundry in the thinking and reading chair and a pile of dirty laundry in the closet. The bed is unmade, and I stayed up way late and slept till 11:39. I haven't worked out since Monday. If I don't snap out of it soon my body is going to calcify or turn to suet and my brain will turn to mush.

I get like this sometimes, in the grey grip of the Oregon winter, and sometimes it takes a Roy Scheider "All That Jazz" pep talk in the mirror to get going. "It's showtime!" Sometimes you have to tilt your head back and squeeze some drops into your bleary minds' eye. Or slap yourself like Cher slapped Nicholas Cage in "Moonstruck": "Snap out of it!"

When I finish this entry I'm going to get in motion. I'll fold the laundry and start another load. I'll walk to the bank and deposit my poker check, and then to the gym, have a good workout, a long hot shower and a shave, put on clean clothes. I'll straighten up the room and vacuum, clean the bathroom and sweep the entryway. I'll get on the internet and pay my Best Buy bill and phone and car insurance, and I swear I won't play any more internet chess. The worst part I was playing badly, in a fog of unforced errors and rudimentary blunders. I'd start out with a solid position and then just fail to see a trap or a untenable move, and lose to a gloating idiot with an anonymous nickname from some remote corner of cyberspace. I should have canoodled or hoisted a pint; I would have been so much farther ahead. I've never made poorer use of a week of evenings. I've never been more disconnected from the world. But my goodness, it's my own fault.

On Monday I cashed out of the poker game because I was running out of food and fishsticks, having planned even less well than usual, and consequently I had less to do in this empty room. Tonight Marie are going on a date, and that will get me in motion, help me throw off this self-absorbed useless funk. I have to be careful: I'm a creature of habit, and this is just about the worst habit of all, doing nothing and going nowhere. Snap out of it, Dale. It's Showtime! Your life is calling, and if you don't answer soon, the phone won't ring at all.

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Weekend Update: 10:28 p.m.

What a much better day it turned out to be. I folded the laundry and did two more loads, straightened up the room and went to the gym. I leg pressed and bench pressed and did 250 crunches, 35 pushups and 15 dips. I rowed and did pulldowns and rode the elliptical, read an US Weekly and the Saturday paper, hamstring curled and calf extended, and walked there and back. Had two Italian ices and a chocolate milk and some nuts for lunch, came home and paid the Best Buy bill, and the cell phone. I'll pay the insurance on Monday, and I had enough left to buy in to the poker site for $60, and I won $76 in the $3 rebuy, finishing 116th out of 4500 players. Busted out with a pair of nines, an ace-queen and a pair of aces behind me. Shortstacked with four and half times the blind, it was time to try and get lucky. I churned along as long as I could. Still, $76 was not a bad night for the first night back.

I followed along with the Beaver game as I played, watching the play chart on ESPN game cast. You don't see the actual plays or players, just the results of each play on a drive chart, the football equivalent of a stock ticker. The Beavers came from behind to win with a field goal on the last play of the game, and now the Civil War will be for the Rose or Holiday Bowl as well as state bragging rights. I hope the Ducks play well and win, or Stephanie will make my life miserable for another year.

Marie had to cancel our date. She said she wasn't feeling well and had to drive Austin to her Winter Formal. She may come over tomorrow.

There's another Italian ice in the freezer. I'll think I'll have that for dessert and go to bed. I'll sleep a lot better knowing I had a productive day.