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Stepped on a scale for the first time in a week or so last night. One eighty one, it said. Ugh, I said. So there I was this morning upgrading my ass from yoga at the Y to an exercise at the Y and holy fuck I sure did loll uselessly around the apartment for the next couple of hours after.

But that walk home. Ah, that special lazy, sinuous strut of a body that has just had every major muscle given a decent workout. I miss it.

New year’s comin’. Depending on how you count, maybe it’s already started – more and more part of me feels like it has, once the winter solstice passes. I don’t make formal resolutions, they’re fragile things, easy to overpromise and then never go back to the first time you slack off. But if I did, this year’s would be two things, I think: get back in the comics-drawing groove, and get back into shape.

I’m working on them both already.

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