It's Friday again (can someone explain to me how that happened, please?) and despite an abundance of favorite things that I could tell you about (the-most-amazing-pumpkin-bread-in-the-world and
this video being the leading contenders this week), my sleepy brain is feeling a little over-honest. It would be a shame to waste all of this candid truth, so I figured it might be time for a few confessions from a rather...
trying week.
Try your hardest not to Oh, just go ahead and judge. I probably would too.
-- In the past week, I have eaten an entire box of wheat thins in 24 hours and a whole loaf of the afore-mentioned pumpkin bread in two days. I've been a little hungry. My mid-section is less than pleased with me (and I with it). Someone please hide the baked goods.
-- Twice this week I have fallen asleep before 9 pm. Sad but oh-so necessary. I blame the cat -- one look at him all curled up and snoozing (his preferred pastime approximately 23.5 hours out of the day) makes me start to nod off myself.
-- Wednesday I went for a run around my local college campus. I knew it was going to storm, but I was determined to sweat out a few quick miles outside (and head back to finish the rest on a treadmill, if I had to). When it did start to drip, I headed back for my car, and about half a mile out disaster struck. My left foot landed wrong, my ankle rolled, and before you can say "graceful" I was skidding across the pavement on my hands and knees. Ouch doesn't really describe it. Even though there was no one around, I was incredibly embarrassed and my first response was to spring back up and announce (to no one in particular) "Oh, shit. I'm okay, I'm okay.... yep I'm fine." Except I wasn't. I had blood streaming from both knees (not an exaggeration, sadly), my palms were stinging like crazy, my cell phone was several feet away, having bounced down the road (thankfully it survived), and my ankle was in definite pain. With great effort I collected myself, hobbled a few feet, tried in vain to wipe the blood off my legs, got my hands all bloody instead, waited at a stoplight forever while the rain picked up and drivers shot me pitying looks, and tried to jog but quickly returned to walking when my ankle made it clear that running would not be a choice. By the time I got back to my car, I was a soggy, limping, bleeding mess. I called my dear husband expecting to leave him a voicemail, and burst into tears when he actually answered. It was definitely not a good afternoon for my pride.
-- I spent the rest of Wednesday evening and most of Thursday in misery, sure that my ankle was going to take forever to heal and ruin the rest of my half-marathon training and generally end my life. I felt like such a cliche: I had never loved running so much until I lost it. I was actually shocked at how depressed I was not to be able to run Thursday morning, even though my brain had been begging for a rest day anyway. So yesterday afternoon, I did something that I knew I shouldn't. Despite the a lingering twinge in my ankle, despite the fact that my shoes were still soaking wet from the rain on Wednesday, despite the mega-sized band-aids flapping from my oozing knees like a 7 year old, I went to the gym. I told myself I'd start slowly and see how it went, but before I knew it I'd jumped from the bike to the elliptical and right back onto the treadmill. Luckily, I made it through two miles with no pain (and another four this morning), so I think my fears were (for once) unfounded. And that new-found love for running? Sure, I'm happy to get back out on the road again, but I'm already dreading having to drag myself out of bed early tomorrow for a run. Cured!
-- I am making no effort to hide that I am super-excited to see a movie that is coming out this weekend..... and no, it's not the one that you're thinking. I'm just dying with anticipation to see these guys:
I am a huge and unapologetic 23 year old Winnie the Pooh fan. I fell in love at the ripe age of one month, when I received my first stuffed animal of the "silly old bear." Since then, I've amassed countless stuffed Poohs (including one in a baseball uniform), donkeys, piglets, and unnaturally-upright tigers, and as a toddler child young adult until I got married, I always fell asleep with a yellow bear tucked in my arms. I watched the tv show (the original show, with the real voices and animation and none of this awful D*sney Channel stuff) every weekend with my dad and read all the books several times. My love for the bear and his friends has grown with me: in the past two years each of my parents gave me wooden signs with quotations from the book, one of which makes me cry every time I read it. Just a few months ago, I purchased four handmade greeting cards with similarly heartwarming Pooh quotes, and because I can't bear to send them off, I'm going to frame them. It's been a long love affair, and I am so thrilled that this movie will return the characters to their original drawings and (with a few exceptions) voices. No offense, Mr. Potter, but this weekend, I'll be spending a few hours with my very favorite bear. (Also, I'm pretty sure that going to see the new HP movie without Dan would be grounds for divorce.)
I think that may be enough honesty for one week. Have a lovely weekend, dear readers!
Love,
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