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Prediction? Pain

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Clip from Rocky III of Mr T as Clubber Lang provides the inspiration for this entry's title.

Remember all those fence posts I helped lug out of the shed Wednesday, and spread around the park, and assisted on Thursday pounding into the ground? Well, what goes in must (often) come out, and today's festival task was to remove the fencing after the fest ended. Let's just say I'm not sure what was the more onerous task, but my body is leaning towards the latter, since I'm already hurting pretty good right now, and anticipating Monday to be spectacularly awful. Might just curl up with a bottle of Advil and an ice pack, and spend the day that way. My shoulders bore the brunt of trying to remove the posts from the earth we'd pounded them into just a few days prior. In some case, the earth was soft and pliable, and gave back easily. In other case, a hard, bitter earth scorned any efforts we made to remove the posts. There were a few we just abandoned and came back to later, before there was no help for it. The darn thing wasn't moving.

This is how tired I am this evening. After I got home, I took a shower. I stood there ten minutes, just soaking up hot water. It wasn't until I got out, dried myself off, got dressed for bed and turned on my computer that I realized that I'd never thought to grab the soap to cleanse myself more thoroughly. I figure it'll be fine, I might have scalded off the top layer of skin anyway. The heat felt pretty good on my shoulders and back, have to say.

Think I'll be taking it easy Monday, to say the least.
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