My mp3 player is on the fritz.
Commence the crying, whining, pouting, boo-hooing, whimpering, blubbering, sniveling and bellyaching.
In its place tonight, I used the radio-- tuned to some Super Size Spectacular 80's Hour-- and was held hostage by the likes of El DeBarge, MC Hammer and Wham! (Exclamation point added for accuracy, not because I'm actually excited.)
Tell me... how am I supposed to get in a good, hard workout while being told to listen to the rhythm of the night, threatened that I can't touch this and asked to wake him up before I go, go?
Tomorrow morning, I'll have to run outside without any music at all. I don't mind so much running to the sounds of nature-- the wind rustling through the trees, the crunch of the ice beneath my feet, the silent strains of the falling snow. It's the sound of the swishing of my nylon pants that's going to drive me mad.
Oh, Woe is Me.