You Get Your Fried Oreos To The Wall Man

I've been up since around 8am this morning after falling asleep around 1:30am or so last night. 6 1/2 hours of sleep sounds like plenty right? Well, that is not the case as I woke up at least once every hour and was having weird dreams all evening. I wish I could say this was an isolated incident, but that is just how Sunday evenings work for me. But instead of crying "FML", I got out of bed, grabbed a quick shower and commenced my day. Having spent the weekend eating like a cross between a health conscious person and Jabba The Hutt (The gluttonous items on the weekend's menu were as follows: Friday night: sausage and peppers drown in whiz on a hoagie roll, a cannoli and three deep fried Oreos; Saturday night: McDonald's double quarter pounder and fries [around 3am, which somehow makes it worse]; Sunday: Brownie a la mode), I deemed it mandatory that I not use my building's elevator all week and opt for the stairs instead. I live on the 6th floor (which in actuality is the 7th floor as the lobby is really the 1st floor...got that?), so this can be a significant little bit of exercise over the course of a week. The problem is that in my exhaustion I forgot that today I desperately needed to grocery shop and do laundry...lots of laundry. 5 trips down and 5 trips up with grocery bags and laundry bags got me a little worn out, but a run of at least 5 miles was still going to be necessary to further work off this weekend's gluttony. I spent a few hours trying to fire myself up with Revocation's Existence Is Futile, Repulsion's Horrified, Pentagram's First Daze Here (The Vintage Collection) and Brutal Truth's Sounds Of The Animal Kingdom/Kill Trend Suicide while scouring the internet for employment opportunities and goofing off on that maddeningly effective time waster Facebook, but to no avail. I still felt tired and really wanted to sit on my sofa and watch Uncle Buck. Then I noticed Accept's Balls To The Wall sitting by my stereo right where I had left it on Saturday. I popped it in and finally found the proper musical motivation to shake out the cobwebs and get myself out the door for a run. Mercifully, unlike fellow Accept lover Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke's character in The Wrestler), I did not suffer a heart attack from overexerting myself.

And if I never see fried Oreos again, then it'll be too soon.