Last October I finished an exercise program that was, quite honestly, kicking my ass. It kicked my ass so much that I haven't exercised in any meaningful chunk since then. That, coupled with a new job and accelerated travel schedul has resulted in a fairly weakened and decrepit maddad. And I guess I can't afford to be decrepit. So, right about the time I resolved to restart my blogging therapy, I resolved to start exercising again. At least 30 minutes a day, no excuses, if I can't do an entire workout, I'll at least do something. Just like I had been doing since 2003. (With breaks of a month or two, but nothing really longer than that.) Howzat workin' out for ya, maddad? Like hell. I guess I should have learned by now to never make resolutions. The day after I made up my resolve, I flew to Austin, Texas for what should have been an overnight trip, but turned into a three day ordeal of planes, trains and automobiles, coupled with butthurt nonsense and sandy vaginas all up and down the Lone Star State. So daddy gone drank. And daddy don feel like workin out. Now daddy has to drive his whole family to Philadelphia to a funeral. No blogging there, maybe. OK, I might Instagram a selfie with the corpse, but that's more of a social thing than anonymous blog ranting. Point being? Nothing, but what the hell?