I am thinking that I very much enjoyed the manicure and pedicure I got yesterday when my mom was in town (although if I had to choose between them then pedicure is the obvious winner) but I can’t get over this weird feeling of guilt I have about paying someone to rub my feet and legs (oh heavens to sweet bouncy betsy it feels gooood though) and to apply poisonous paint on my toenails with a teeny little brush.
I am thinking that I need to be eating more lovely cheese from this place . This is partially because the cheese is super yum, and partially because when you go to the Pike Place Market now you get to go by a big window full of cheese-making equipment and if you are lucky you will get to see the guy in the apron and the rubber boots stir the curds and that’s pretty funny. And now that I think about it, the phrase “stir the curds” is pretty funny too.
I am thinking that tonight is Latin Dance Aerobics at my gym, and realizing that I have no idea what Latin Dance Aerobics will entail. I signed up for it because I didn’t feel as though I was exercising enough or as well as I’d like and that for professional hypocrisy reasons I should make it to the gym even though, of course, I hate the gym. Anyway. Latin Dance Aerobics. I feel it’s important to use the entire title at all times, like with Passport To Cookies. Will Latin Dance Aerobics focus on the first part of it’s full name (that would be Dancus Aerobicum Latinum, I believe) and involve sultry music and a lot of cha-cha-cha? Or will it be more along the Aerobics part of Latin Dance Aerobics and involve all the horrible eighties’ clich鳠about aerobics that I can think of, like high-top Reeboks and side ponytails and leotards? What does one wear to Latin Dance Aerobics, does anyone have any idea? I am going to wear faded Old Navy yoga pants, a sportsbra, some really silly and really non-supportive shoes I also got from Old Navy, and a black tee shirt. We’ll see how it goes.
I am also thinking that I don’t think I’ve ever told you what I do for work and that there are several good reasons for that, namely the fear of being Dooced that lurks in the heart of every journaller and also the fear of being totally boring that lurks deep in the heart of every journal reader. However, since we were just talking about exercise and how I don’t do it too much, I feel I should tell you that part of my job involves calling people up and telling them that they really should exercise because, like, it’s totally beneficial. Isn’t that terrible? Especially since I work in academia, not at the local 24 Hour Fitness as you might suspect. I feel like a big ol’ meanie hypocrite when I’m on the phone all like “Yeah, dude, you should totally get out there and take a walk, or something. Now excuse me while I sit here in my office chair and have another Ritz cracker or eight.” I feel awful. Such is my life.
I’m thinking that I’m really sort of interested in clothes and even shoes lately. Partially this is because I started reading Manolo for what I told myself were irony reasons. And I keep seeing pretty things on Mighty Goods and then happen to notice this giraffe skirt and I have this very quick vision of myself, beautifully dressed and shod. I clack down the sidewalk to the restaurant, holding my clutch purse under my arm. I throw my head back at the garden party and the cut of the blouse brings my collar bones into focus. I sit on the barstool and hoot and holler, kicking my booted feet against the rungs as the band plays one more song. You see? This is all very confusing because I have not, historically, been very good at clothes. I’m not very good at clothes, and don’t even get me started about my size ten feet that never look good in any shoes ever, and let’s not even consider the implications of my thinking of clothes at all when there are tsunamis and famines and unjust wars. It’s very strange.
I’m thinking about how Mom and I went to the Seattle Aquarium on Sunday and I got to see both the octopus. Mom was nice enough to buy me a membership because I told her how much I wanted to go on one of their behind-the-scenes tours. I think I’d actually prefer the children’s tour (because I still cherish hopes of being able to pet an octopus somewhere, someday) but this would mean that I’d need to find a kid somewhere and drag her to the Aquarium. I’m sure wacky hijinks will ensue on my behalf somehow, though.
I’m thinking about this Unspecified Project that must be completed in order to further my Top Secret Plans. This Project involves a lot of paperwork, and signatures, and letters of recommendation, and various types of documentation. I am not being very good about getting all of this work done on this project, pursuant to the furtherance of my Top Secret Plans. I really need to motivate myself to do it though because I am very excited about the Top Secret Plans and I really want the Top Secret Plans to work out so I can tell you all about them without referring to them as Top Secret Plans. Which means I have to do a lot of work on this Unspecified Project. Which I don’t want to do. Hence my dilemma.
I’m thinking about that tattoo thing I wrote about last week. I still haven’t decided whether or not to get one. One the one hand: Awesome! Hardcore! Tattoo! On the other hand: Ow! But, see, now that I’ve written about it, I kind of feel I have to do it, like, I have to write an entry about when I go in to have a discussion with the tattoo artist, and then I have to take pictures of the red welt on my hip, and then some more pictures of when it finally heals. I mean, I like details in my journals, you know, and that’s what I’d want to see if I were reading someone who was making a big fuss about turning thirty and maybe sort of wanting to get some ink permanently injected into her living skin.
I’m thinking about writing, and this journal, and my archives, and what I write about here and what I don’t write about here and what I wish I could write about and why I feel like I can’t write about it and what I wish I’d never even mentioned. I’m feeling a little slow with the writing lately, but I still have this itchy feeling from not updating for a week…I tried to write something about my weekend with Mom about four times before I gave up and just started writing about random things I’m thinking about. I have a lot to say, sort of, but I don’t want to say it all, and then sometimes I don’t know whether to just leave the journal be if I don’t have anything I want to say, or to try to churn something out so I don’t have that weird itchy feeling. I want to write more and better but I have no idea how to go about doing that…except to just keep doing it, I guess. But where is this all going to take me, writing this journal? What’s it for? I mean, I get that I like to write about myself and put it online for people to read, I understand that it’s, like, my hobby. Or whatever. But is writing going to ever be anything else for me besides distraction from what’s really going on?