Labored Political Metaphors

(Warning: analogies will get stretched to the breaking point here.)

Yesterday was election day here, and I voted! With my feet!

Okay, all right, in all seriousness I did get out and vote. It appears that Issue 3 has been defeated, though, so I won’t be able to buy my legal weed from one of the Official Drug Cartel members the state was going to enshrine. I’ll just have to go on with not buying my weed from anyone. Because I don’t smoke.

That’s a joke, son. See, it’s funny because I don’t use drugs. Right?

But I voted with my feet!  I voted “yes” on Issue One, a motion to get out and exercise!

…I did warn you.  Don’t go looking at me like that.

Here’s what happened.  I didn’t make it to the polling place until after 6, thanks to that late day I discussed yesterday. And my wife didn’t make it there much ahead of me, so we ended up having to go out to dinner. so it was nearly 7:30 by the time I got home. And I was tired from a 12 hour day, and my legs were sore, and all those other excuses I come up with when I’m whining because I don’t wanna go walk three quarters of a mile to hit my goal.  (Read that last sentence in an annoying, nasal voice for full effect.)

I got myself out and walked anyway. And by the time I was finished, I felt pretty good. In fact, my totals for the day were 2,310 calories eaten, 4,537 calories burned, and 5.53 miles walked. I’m also noticing that this walking thing has become an actual matter of daily routine for me, now. I don’t just feel vaguely guilty for not hitting it anymore, I feel off. Kind of the same way I felt the one time I realized I hadn’t shaved after I got to work.

So, progress.


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