I have a giant list
And another one of needs.
And I think right now, new running shoes is at the top of both.
Preferably in hot pink.
But I’m not picky.
Also, I might need to stop being proud and get a knee brace.
Getting older is stupid.
Life is beautiful.
Last night was Joss Whedon’s Much Ado, homemade Thai Curry, and laying on the floor with one of my favorite people ever while listening to the Beatles.
This morning started with smooshing, I had a perfect almond milk latte, and I got to watch the Game of Thrones Season Finale.
Times like this make me thrilled for possibility.
Grown Up Wisdom
Cleaning for 20 minutes a day is way better than cleaning all day on your day off.
Cuz somehow that’s what happens if you don’t clean every day.
Workin’ on it.
5 Stages of Getting Over Shit
It’s too hot to accomplish stuff.
So I was lying on my floor
The good news is I’m almost through. The bad news is depression is the least fun stage of grief and always seems to be the longest. Balls, dude. Hide the carbs. And the inspirational movies. And family-oriented commercials.
Also, can I borrow someone’s dog?
indulging in some real, quality misery, and trying to think up ways to not feel what I’m feeling when it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t. My automatic response to this kind of thing is to numb it, drug it, kill it. More than anything, I am inclined to distract myself with a similar situation. I’d rather occupy my mind with something mediocre than let it dwell upon the loss of something great.
But while I was lying there, examining the gross amount of hair stuck in my carpet, I decided not to. I’d like to see what happens if I really let myself feel it. Sure, maybe over time I will resort to old methods of recovery. This is an experiment and I’m human. But for now I think it’s sufficient to say:
I had something rare. It was lovely. And now it’s gone. And I’m sad. And that’s okay.
Well that was a fucking waste of four months and an incalculable amount of emotion and energy.