I was thinking that next time I go to the gym I want to repeat the work out I did at my last training session.  Then I reread this and figured it might be better to go home have some vodka and stumble up and down my stairs calling it exercise then to ever do that again.

This part specifically reminded me I DO NOT WANT TO REPEAT THAT:

This is the point when I realized I had actually just thrown up a little in my mouth and that I was seriously at the gym swallowing down vomit.

VOMIT

Eventually I was done. I was a free girl. I stumbled out of there wobbling like I was drunk, the room spinning like I had just tossed back a bottle of Jaeger. When I got downstairs I actually had to sit down for a second (that is when I wrote the first blog) and regain composure before getting the boys. For a moment I actually wondered if I would be able to safely drive home. Then I thought, "fuck safety do I even have enough energy to push the gas peddle down?

The answer? Barely.

I just got home. I pretty much collapsed in my chair. I have no idea how I think I will make dinner. I have zero idea how I will parent for the remainder of the night. In fact, if I have to pee I’m pretty much fucked because I don’t think my muscles have enough energy in them to even squat down onto the toilet, let alone heft my fat ass up off the toilet seat. I’m contemplating asking Brandon to go get me one of my jumbo over night pads so I can just pee in that all night rather then trying to actually move.