I like the smell of my new shampoo. It's a sort of lime-coconut thing. The bad news is that it makes me crave Thai food and I've even considered gnawing on my hair at non-mealtimes (as if it would be ok to gnaw on it at actual mealtimes).
I signed up for another race today. I feel more apprehension about it than I have about almost any race besides the very first one I ever ran. Why is that? I have nothing to prove to anyone, especially for an 8K.
I am completely swamped and uninspired to pick up my filthy, dirty house. And I suspect that it's vaguely Marie Antoinette-ish to think I should just hire someone else to clean it because that will help the economy. Apathy as political statement; no, I swear I'm not a part of the slacker generation.
I haven't even started Christmas shopping but I have bought my kids outfits for the Christmas picture. Of course, they won't let the clothing ever grace their bodies again after the picture has been taken, but somehow I still consider it money well spent. Then again, they owe me a picture in decent clothes that I like given the obnoxious cost of *each* of the gifts they have on their lists. Cell phones, laptops, iPods, Bakugon sets, a bike, etc. Have you ever seen such confident greed? They are going to be so disappointed on Christmas! (But at least I'll have gotten my picture long before then.
I can't settle into a book right now, which is a truly tragic reflection of my state of mind. The number of books I've started and set aside on the bedside table just keeps growing and growing.
Why is the upstairs in my house freezing cold? It has its own thermostat, which is set at a reasonable temp and yet it is definitely bone-chillingly cold up there. Here's where I display that clearly less than stellar science ed-you-kay-shun again and confess to thinking that I remember heat was supposed to rise. Perhaps this only holds true in intro classes! But if the main floor is pleasantly toasty (we just discount the chilly basement altogether), why is the upstairs frost-bite territory?
How is it that I gained weight and a pair of mostly lycra running pants looks worse on the chub but still slides down my butt until I've worked up a sweat that plasters them to the aforementioned chub? I'm sure the sight of me reaching down and yanking up my drawers is a really pretty one for all drivers in the neighborhood. Apologies offered.