I did absolutely nothing today. Well, that's not entirely true. I ate, slept, breathed, took a few bathroom breaks... You get the point. I did "nothing" in that I didn't do any training.
No boxing.
No running.
No swimming
No weight training.
Instead, with the condo curtains closed shut, my feet up on the coffee table, and Balboa sleeping beside me, I curled up to a good book and read almost the entire thing.
...not before I got in a good massage that is. I'm pretty sure that tiny little Filipino masseuse dislocated my left index finger, seriously.
"The Five Languages of Love", a book that I had spotted on my mom's shelf back at my old house, a book I've heard much talk about, and a book that had found its way into my carry on bag. Opened it up and read it today, almost from cover to cover. It was an interesting book, it seemed to definitely clear up and make sense of some previous "relationship mishaps" of past but I must admit I got a bit distracted and overly focused on all the highlighted passages within the pages. This was originally my mom's book; she had highlighted the passages. On one hand it was super interesting to focus in on what particular passages spoke to my mom, which ones she had labelled as more important, but on the other hand it made me feel a bit uneasy and a tad bit uncomfortable when it discussed more intimate "stuff" because I was reading what my mom had read. My mom, a person that up until her laying on her death bed she had always been "mom" and not my the love of my father's life, a women who had fallen in love with my dad.
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