First off, my apologies for being gone so darn long. So much longer than I expected. Luckily, my ears cleared up on Saturday afternoon, and since I'd been cooped up in the house all of Thursday and Friday and most of Saturday, I was ready to get the heck out of here! I called Susan up and we spent Saturday night sipping pina coladas, eating a tasty steak salad, and we watched Stranger Than Fiction, all the while marveling at Will Ferrell's uncanny ability to be completely unlike himself. It was good to have a little girls night getaway.
Sunday was more of the same. I worked out first thing, spent part of the day reading and watching mindless TV, and finally headed out to Hastings in the evening to read all the magazines I won't subscribe to: The American Scholar, Bookmarks, and Writer's Digest in particular. Not that they're not worth subscribing to, but what would I do with my time if I couldn't sit in Hastings with free coffee and read them? That's a good time, my friends. Especially when I'm feeling stir crazy.
This week so far: planning for fall courses, gave UNT all of my money for my two library classes, and general week-day stuff.
Part of my preoccupation as of late--it's even keeping me from books to some extent--is a new fascination with exercise. This is weird stuff for me, people. I've always HATED working out. Particularly because Texas is synonymous with "hell" in the summer. This week, for instance, it's been about 102 to 105 every day. Therefore, since Daisy wakes me up at 6:00 every day anyway, I've started walking/jogging in the mornings from about 6:45-8:00 or 8:15. And it's become something of an obsession. Not obsession like bulimia obsession, but it's really become a part of my routine that I look forward to and don't want to end.
I throw on my running shoes, the coolest workout gear available without being indecent (tee-shirt and shorts...get your mind out of the sports bras), and take off with my iPod. In the past I've timed my walks or runs (almost exclusively walks now, bad ankles and a horrible knee from old injuries), followed a set route, always tried to beat my times, and generally made it far too difficult and pain-in-the-assy.
My motto this time is "just go." I cover my neighborhood 3 or four times, sprout off to a new route if I feel like it, I walk briskly and at a steady, strenuous pace, but not so quickly as to make myself hurt and want to die, and I walk for as long as I can or as long as I want to. What I've found is...I never want to stop! As I'm gliding along, sweating like a pig, heart pumping, ears filled with whatever happens to move me at the moment, my mind is completely uncluttered and I can think in ways that remind me of the throes of really good writing or the days when I could spend 7 hours in an art studio painting. It's like walking off my problems (and my ass). I'm just sort of amazed. I've never enjoyed exercise, outside, in the hot. Sometimes I even want to go in the evening too (although it's way too hot for as long a workout as I do in the morning). So, I would say I'm generally walking about 3 miles every morning, and if I go twice 5 or 5.5 (including warm up/cool down and extra stretching time for the bitchy joints).
When I get home from my walk I've been dashing over to the neighbors' house for 30 minutes to an hour of swimming time. Some of that is heavy swimming, constant, or sometimes I just float around and loaf. Either way, I have a great tan, I can take my pants off without unzipping or unbuttoning them, and I want to be outside ALL THE TIME. Kinda cuts into my computer time, but I'm enjoying the new hobby, the new motivation, and the change of lifestyle.
I don't know what's come over me, but I like it!
Now, if you need me, I'll be walking the neighborhood and waving at the neighbors.
Reading: Very little. I'm about halfway through Bonk, and I'm tiring of it.
Watching: Dan in Real Life arrives from Netflix today.
Listening: A LOT! Pete Yorn's Nightcrawler at the moment.