March 29, 2003
Cook-Eee
Listening: 'Roadhouse Blues', The Doors
This morning I lay in bed, fighting sleep and welcoming his arms, thinking about shopping and shelf reading. While one is generally a source of most female excitement, the other cannot possibly thrill more than a dozen or so people nationwide. I have an interview with the library on Monday, and I can't hardly wait. The idea of shelving and alphabetizing and straightening once more fills my heart with a familiar joy.
I was born to be a librarian. Or an English teacher. I haven't quite decided which I lean more heavily towards, just yet.
I. Am. A. New. Woman. Yesterday I went to the gym with my dad and worked my ass off. True story. I'm propped up with pillows in this desk chair right now.
At any rate. It felt weird and good and painful and I now have a membership. We are allegedly returning today, and most definitely tomorrow. I figure, three times a week, a bit of cardio and weight lifting, I'll be fucking hot. Me. Working out. This is cause for celebration and abashed faces.
Am once again fighting weakness. What with a cute new outfit to wear, a full tank of gas, and traditional fierce desperation, will I be able to stay home tonight...?
astera at 4:43 p.m.