I found myself unable to sleep in this morning, Jeff is at work, I am slightly crabby.
Is it criminal to anyone else when you can't sleep in on Saturday morning? I learned this week that unless I LEAP out of bed, and I do mean LEAP, which I did on Friday, I am invariably rushed and/or late. Trying to greet the day with any amount of calm doesn't mean greeting the day at all, it means lying in a sleepy stupor trying to negotiate with the powers of the universe, pleading the possibility of it magically becoming a weekend and therefore a typically schedule-deficient morning. And then next thing I know (or don't know) I'm shmoozing with Mr. Sandman again and jolting myself awake with a gasp, late late late. Bad, bad, bad.
Some other latests:
* I've been going to the gym a lot. Like, some of the 24 Hour Fitness Employees might be starting to recognize me. (!!!) It's been great; I read my books on vaguely effective cardio machines while Jeff pumps iron, we run into friends from the ward, it's a good system. I get the gymnasium equivalent of Sunday Night blues while we are en route, and my gym buddy always asks, "Do you want to just go get a donut instead?" with a mischievous smile on his face. So far self discipline has been exercised on the way to exercising.
* How about that tort reform, eh?
* Yesterday Jeff asked me how I feel about my job right now. The work is interesting to me. I love, love, love my co-workers. I am really happy there. I feel like a lucky girl. I often feel like shouting this from the rooftops, but this is the closest I've gotten.
* I'm sorry, I might alienate some of my female comrades with this next blogger statement, but I just can't get on board with the booties. I just don't get them. They make your (my) legs look funny. This is one trend I'm just going to wave at as it passes me by. May it pass by with much momentum.
* I might be frightening more than a few people now, but I have had an itching to cut my hair off, and in no trivial manner. I suppose there was no other alternative; I must eventually recalibrate into a version of my mother, and what would Meri Eaton be without her short Meri Eaton hair? I'm not about to do it, not even close, but I saw this picture in the grocery store magazine rack, and a little chime rang in the back of my head. It might be 10 more years until the day of drastic hair whacking dawns, but I'm quite sure my head will at some point look like this: