I'd really rather not

Hey! Wake up! It's 7:35 on a Sunday morning. It's cold in my apartment. What the hell is that about? I had an alright sleep (consumption of the giant chocolate bar before bed was maybe not the smartest thing that I've done). I didn't run yesterday so in theory my body should be somewhat rested. Oh, it just flipped me the bird and is trying to go back to sleep. Stupid body.
I reckon this debacle should take three hours. Frick. It's a good thing we start around 8:30, because that means I won't be home til around noon. And if I attempt to be social and go for breakfast afterwards, it'll be closer to 1pm or 2pm. I don't think I will attempt to be social. I don't often feel particularly social when my face is grimy with all the salt that I've sweated out and my hair is plastered to my neck and I have managed to convince myself that members of the numerous bug swarms we ran through are undoubtedly adhered to my person. I should go though. It's the polite thing to do. I think last time I swatted away the invite with an "Arrr... I'm a hermit and don't like to talk much" and then scuttled away to my car and drove home.
Okay. I guess I should go now. Get dressed. Brush my teeth. Put liquid and food in my running belt (beer and cheesies, natch). Make sure my MSP and extended health plans are paid up. Mentally assess why I ever thought this would be a good idea.
Sweet.