kiwords

First, some background. Inspired by the tiny, hardbodied women at TURBO KICKBOX, I've been tracking my eating habits over at FitDay (by "inspired" I mean "led to wonder how I ever get to the gym without one wall of my house being removed and my bed being trundled there on a forklift").

Have you seen FitDay? It's pretty nifty. You input your food choices and in return it gives you all sorts of cool graphs and percentages to tell you how well you're eating. It's fascinating. I NEVER get enough vitamin D. And then you can tell it how much you've exercised, and what kind of exercising, and it gives you a lovely graph of calories eaten vs. calories burned...it's all kinds of thrilling.

Anyhow, one of the annoying things about it is that they don't have all the specific foods I eat in their little database. Or if they do, they can be hard to find. I spend more time than I should scrolling through page after page after page, looking for the THING I just ate, thinking STOP IT, with the yogurt-covered almonds and frozen yogurt, chocolate or coffee flavor. YOGURT. I ATE YOGURT. Or muttering, whaddya mean, you don't have TRISCUITS?

This morning Clay came back to the bedroom to kiss me goodbye. It was time for him to go to work, so clearly it was time for me to sleep for another two hours or so. Early. He goes to work EARLY. I rolled over and gave him a sleepy smile (I think. I was FEELING smile-y at him).

"I was dreaming that I was working out, except these monkeys kept interrupting me."

"You mean the boys?"

"No, literal monkeys. Little brown ones, about this big." I held up my hands to show wee, nine-inch monkey size. "But the annoying part was that I was trying to put in my workout on the computer, and it didn't have the right category."

"You mean, like, 'monkey interrupted exercise'?" He was laughing now.

"Exactly. It wasn't in their database."

"That program must be made by Cutler-Hammer."

Here is what I know about Cutler-Hammer: they make VFDs, or variable frequency drives. I do not know what that means, but I know that they are sometimes called adjustable frequency drives. Clear? Yes, I know, but this is what Clay talks about after work, so I listen with attentively, saying encouraging things like, "oh, really?" and "wow" and "can you move so I can get in that cabinet?" Anyhow, Clay has been trying to get a program that will give him the parameters of this one VFD, and the fine folks at C-H apparently sent him a disc that was useless, so to make up for it they sent him the same useless information by email. They are an iconic representation of frustration at the moment.

But he was still talking.

"I'm going to have to put those parameters in an Excel spreadsheet myself, step by step, which will be a pain, but I need to have that information available..."

I half sat up, propping myself on my elbows, the better to give him the hairy eyeball. MORNING. Did I mention EARLY?  Dreams are one thing. Spreadsheets and VFDs are ANOTHER THING ENTIRELY.

"Honey." My tone could best be described as warning. He looked up from tying his shoe, caught the message with admirable alacrity, and dropped the subject. After we exchanged a few words of adoration and well-wishes for the day, he took his leave.

I rolled over, cocooning myself in the blankets. Honestly. Sometimes that man makes NO SENSE AT ALL.