I had a leftover taco night with some other nearest and dearest. I had to take a picture of it because it was too ridiculous(read: gorgeous) not to. I couldn’t even include the tortillas in the frame.
Other things I can’t let go?
You name it.
I tried running it off tonight. Or, rather, jogalking. Stepping moderately quickly. Hopping off curbs. Taking it up to a skip. That sort of thing.
I got a new workout outfit that screams UFC fighter. All black, with a yellow Adidas hoodie. It makes me look pretty tough when the hood is up.
What I really wanted to do is dance in the streets while blasting my iPod directly into my eardrums. I settled for picturing my routine complete with kicks and flips and spins.
There’s nothing like angrily dance-working out.
…Something that takes the tough right back out of me.
It just occurred to me that I actually have an attic I could do that in.. Dance it out. I’m pretty exited about that.
There’s really something to be said about endorphins.
I was terribly upset before going on this walkog. I feel.. Relief now. Amazing.
This whole sobriety thing is fucking with my chi.
How do people just hang out in their own heads like.. All. The. Time? No wonder people get so much accomplished. It’s goddamn filler.
An idle mind and all that.. It’s never made so much sense.
No wonder the hours and hours of cleaning don’t help. There’s too much room for… You.
I’ve got to start filling my space with information that has nothing to do with me.
Fancy book learnin’.
And good lord, I have to start reading a book club book that seems to be a bit more of an undertaking than I had realized.
