I've -- somewhat -- stopped participating in the task of licking the foil yogurt lid before proceeding to eat the rest of my yogurt.
For whatever reason I've felt obligated to do this for many years.
Although admittedly I just licked a lid moments ago. I haven't fully licked the habit/urge/obligation to do so.
The yogurt I'm currently eating is the kind you stir mini M&M's into. I am five.
Tomorrow is my mandatory writing day for the month.
What does that mean, exactly?
Well it means that while I may likely take breaks to clean, make snacks, take a shower, smooch on Kitty Face, etc., it is my job to sit on my butt and write more or less continually throughout more or less the whole day.
Though I am sleeping tomorrow and waking up sans alarm. Girlfriend is tired. (Although I'm actually in pretty good shape, because I slept for approx. 10 hours last night).
I dropped my ballet class.
I love ballet.
And I loved my teacher.
And I met two potential new besties on my first day of class.
But it was a three hour class that took up a whole evening each week, and I just wasn't feeling it. The timing was not great for my life right now.
And my energy for writing has been really up lately, and I LOVE that and want to keep that enthusiasm focused and pumping. So I decided to drop. Sometimes I love being an adult, allowed to make my own adult decisions.
I'm going on a hike this weekend! I'm super excited.
I really enjoy the feeling of walking uphill.
Is that super weird?
Just mildly weird?
I like the steady rhythm of heavier breathing. I like the feeling of ascension -- it's probably literally psychologically effective in lifting one's affect, eh?
I like it. I'm looking forward to it. I believe we have a 7-miler on the menu. The last time we did a hike that long, it was tough, it was great, it was long. We finished by flashlight, and then gorged on bar food and happy hour Bud Lights. I'm excited for Round Two.
I just watched "Almost Famous" for the first time last weekend.
I. Loved. It.
Frances McDormand? FAB. FAB. FAB.
I watched it in my jeans on the couch, and someone I care about made me a burger with peppers and onions on top. I drank a Dr. Pepper and ate vegetables and delighted in the culinary and cinematic tastiness and the delovely company.
I actually found myself thinking, amidst the crazy plot, that this could actually happen. Yes, a 15-year-old kid could fool Rolling Stone magazine and convince his mother -- I mean, if his mother were Frances McDormand -- to let him skip school and travel with groupies and then write a national cover story.
Sure, I haven't written a cover story, with my master's in journalism, but sure. It could happen to William Miller.
For a movie to beat through my cynical exterior and get me to just dopily accept its farfetched frameworks -- well, it's saying something. (That said, I've always loved movies like "Big" and "The Lake House," which stand on farfetchedness as their base. So...)
Though I just had to comment on the presence of a woman in a lead editorial position at Rolling Stone in the 70s. Um, I'm skeptical. Cheering for it. But skeptical.
The precious person who made me the burger told me to just enjoy the movie. But c'mon.
Also I want to be Penny Lane (or Mary Poppins (unrelated)) for Halloween.
*Also, finally, I have to give myself a hearty clap on the back for finding this movie via my own defeat over technology. By my very own self, I was able to find Netflix on someone else's TV. I braved the scary remote controls and the various "inputs" and the 21st century madness.
And there was Success.
This is big, People.
I still don't have texting, though.