Underbored...

I'm not good at any of my lives.

After working on a project most of the day, I realize I have to completely revise it.

I get home later than I want and rush to squeeze a ride in.

I look outside to see my wife and son playing in the back yard. Despite the pang of guilt I feel (and the realization that he's learning to throw like a girl), I head out for my ride.

30 minutes into my interval session, my bad-deskchair-posture induced/exacerbated leg injury tells me I should probably pack it in and head home.

I guess the benefit of failing at my last life is that I get home in time to play with my son before bath and bedtime. Luckily, my wife knows how to throw properly, so he hasn't been permanently scarred. Besides, his dad is a leg-shaving girlie man, so no one will expect anything of him anyway.