sweat

I am overdue to write something on here, but am hesitant to begin, on account of the perspiration factor. Here's a little inside insight on my writing: it makes me sweat. I'm in Canada, for Pete's sake, and although it is summer, it is overcast and I'm inside a cool house. Nonetheless, the moment I start to write, my underarms begin to drip. From there, it spreads to my palms and then all the pores blossom and the floodgates are released. Ah, yes, I can feel it now.

This is a bit strange, I think. I'm not normally a sweaty person, but writing (and chess, and painting) get me going more, even, than some minor physical activity. They say brain work burns a lot of calories, but come on, this isn't exactly nuclear physics I'm doing here - I'm writing about a type of excrement. Yet here I go, getting flushed and drippy all over.

As inane as this whole entry is, then, I can't bring myself to delete it and start over. First, because I'm hungry and can't think of anything but food and baser things (like sweat) and second because I feel like I've actually been working here. As a guy who makes his living doing manual labour, physical work isn't somthing I can slough off lightly. So there it is, folks, the story of my sweat.