Forecast

Last week, questionable scheduling had me and my motley team of Frisbee-throwers playing three games of ultimate in two nights, including two in a row on Thursday. It is now one week later and my legs and back have yet to fully recover from this. Like Kurt Cobain once wailed: paaaiiiiiinnnnnnn. Friday through Sunday was particularly agonizing - I was crawling around on all fours with Lydia, periodically having to stand up to save her from the cat's food (or vice versa), my muscles hating me and punishing me for punishing them, making me feel sorry for myself. Stupid legs, holding grudges. I haven't done a lick of exercise since.

Well, tonight is once again Frisbee night, and it looks like the numbers are scarce - we may barely have enough to field a team let alone enjoy the luxury of having spares. Whether last week's marathon session is a contributor to this remains to be seen. To make matters worse, our year-end playoff tournament is Saturday, where we could potentially play more than three games in a single day. Thinking about parenting through Sunday, in a potential hurricane, potentially without power, in my pitiful decrepit condition - it's enough to make me want to cry.

But don't feel for me dear reader, for as a wise hobbit or wizard or something once said - 'tis the path I have chosen and something something, so bring me lots of beer and epsom and a masseuse.