Today, I had a personal training session at my gym. My trainer was Kirk, who certainly seemed to know what he was doing, if his appearance is any indication. He was also very kind. He took what I said seriously, and he believed me when I mentioned I had been to personal trainers before. It is not obvious to the naked eye (or even an electron microscope), but I am no stranger to the gym.

I also told Kirk I wanted to gain weight, and he told me to eat pasta.

The session was fine. He gave me ridiculously low weights to work with, so I did not embarrass myself too much, although it was somewhat humiliating to be sized up as only being able to lift fifty pounds with my legs, for example, when I had done 270 pounds on that same exercise last week. He said he just wanted to see my form. This is fine, because I just wanted to see his form, too. (Rob has been out of town too long, apparently.)

I like personal training, even though it was just my free introductory session. I wish I had enough money to do it more often. In fact, I would like to commission a battalion of professionals to swoop in and rescue me in every area of my life. Cleaning people, dog walkers, acupuncturists, spiritual advisors, personal trainers, editors, guitar teachers, valets, chauffeurs . . . I could just be propelled from place to place, from one set of expert hands to another, leaving all of the details to them. Then I could focus all of my mental energies on what's really important.

Uh, what was that again?