My view at present.
I’m happy to report that this is my last day at work for the next two weeks. Two weeks. Why? I’m taking some much-needed time off, to visit the bestie and to head to the beach with another group of friends.
What I’ll miss about work for two weeks:
Happy Friday, youse guys!!
(I’ll still be posting, obviously, so as to not carelessly abandon my 31 Days of Posting Challenge/Plan, so you won’t get to miss me.)
I’ll also leave you with a song that embodies, to me, all things vacation, fun in the sun, enjoying time with friends, and John Stamos (he’s on the drums, for one thing, and he’s also my boyfriend).
Play on. We haven’t had a good music discussion in a while, have we? But before we begin…
I’ve decided to take on the 31WriteNow Blog Challenge, which means I’ll posting an entry every day for the month of August. (Thanks, Awesomely Luvvie, for the challenge, and ToBNatural for posting about it!) No delusions of grandeur this time. I think after successfully completing the NaPoWriMo challenge, this can be done! Join me, won’t you? Or at least support and read and comment and make me happy. Now, onwards.
Other than my family, friends, donuts, and Paul Newman, music is the great love of my life. See below for recent songs/bands/musicians that have been sweetly driving me crazy.
Florence and the Machine. Seriously, where have I been? How have I completely ignored this band and Florence Welch, whose soaring voice makes me want to throw my fists in the air and sob all at the same time? After my Sissy’s repeated recommendations that I listen to them, I finally gave in (it’s hard to listen when you’re the oldest, ok?) and promptly fell in love with F&TM’s lyrical and melodic and rhythmic goodness. If you haven’t (and you likely have, because I’m so late on this one), listen to Lungs and Ceremonials, their two albums. From Lungs, the following song is typically set on repeat on my iPod. The feeling it gives me is indescribable.
Emeli Sande. Not quite sure why I haven’t talked about this incredible artist yet. I don’t know. Maybe the trance she’s put me requires only listening and not typing. I first heard her beautiful voice in my local Barnes and Noble. After some quick research on the lyrics I was hearing, I knew who she was and her album, Our Version of Events, had been quickly downloaded into my iPod. Every single song on that album is good. I’m not exaggerating. Every.single.song. Her voice is really her instrument. Here are two from her.
Ok, one more, one more. This is the one that got me in the B&N.
Who Do We Think We Are, John Legend. I think I’ve talked about my enduring love for Legend? If not, here you go. I love him like white rice. And this particular song from his upcoming album, Love in the Future, is simply beautiful. His vocals have never been better. And the song makes me want to learn how to swim. In other words, to do something that terrifies me.
Adorn, Miguel. There’s this, but things happen. Let’s focus on Adorn, shall we? It’s the kind love song that makes you squeal. No, it does, really. You will squeal and sing into your hairbrush and just be cheesy, but it won’t matter, because there are lyrics like “let my love adorn you” in the world. Sigh.
Lionel Richie, Tuskegee. Yeah, you read that right. I am an unabashed fan of Mr. Richie, his music, Dancing on the Ceiling, all of it. What? I grew up in the 80s. There was Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Lionel Richie. Anyway, Lionel decided–because he is a GENIUS–to re-record some of his biggest hits with a country sound and with some of country biggest stars right now, which is apropos, considering his background with country music (writing a hit song for Kenny Rogers, performing another song with Alabama). I’ve listened to album, oh, about 100 times. Listen to the whole thing. I couldn’t find songs to link, unfortunately, but honorable mentions go to Sail On, You Are, Stuck on You, Lady, and my beloved Pop’s favorite, favorite song, Deep River Woman.
Speaking of country, although I tend to largely stick with the oldies and the greats, like Dolly and Kenny and Reba, The Band Perry has a song out right now that kind of blows my mind. It’s gothic country storytelling at its best. Better Dig Two is about a woman who takes “till death do us part” pretty seriously. I love it so much.
Enjoy, and Happy First Day of August! What are you all listening to?
No, I didn’t meet Ricky Schroeder. And no, I wasn’t gifted with tickets to see James Taylor perform, during which he dedicated most of the songs in his wondrous discography to me. (And brought me on stage to duet with him for, oh, all of those songs.)
This particular sheer awesomeness comes from the fact that I:
1) wrote a short essay about a certain show I loved way back in the day and tied it in with the madness and magnificence of adolescent crushes,
2) submitted it,
[deafening, joyous scream]
It’s featured here on one of my favorite sites, HelloGiggles.
For those of you who know me, who support my writing, who support this blog and my other ones (this one and a brand new one over here!): you get it, don’t you? The sheer awesomeness of it all? That, as a writer, to see my work in a published form is pretty amazing? That when I saw my piece on HelloGiggles yesterday I wanted to do the cartwheel I never learned how to do in 6th grade gym class? That I haven’t stopped smiling? Yep. You get it. (And thanks for the enduring support. The few eyes that drift over to this tiny corner of the universe are all appreciated, although some of you don’t leave comments. Baby steps, I know.)
I will go to bed, at the latest, by 9:30pm. I will wake up at 5am, get in the car, and drive to the gym. I will work out. I will do this four mornings out of the week.
It is a delusion of grandeur for many reasons. For one thing, my poor brain/body does not recognize “9:30pm” as a viable time of day. My poor brain/body recognizes 8am (best time ever to wake up, really), 5pm (quitting time) and 12am (when I begin to watch my nightly episodes of The Golden Girls) as viables times of day. “9:30pm” is for school nights, and I haven’t been subject to a school night for–cough–fourteen years. So. Setting that kind of time for me to actually close my eyes and commence with REM sleep was laughable.
What more? Waking up at “5am.” Other than, again, choosing not to recognizing that as a viable time, I’m convinced that “5am” was reserved for murderers and taxi drivers. (I’m aware that there are plenty of nice, crime-free people who wake up at this time and yikes, even earlier, but in my opinion, those nice, crime-free people are in the minority. The majority of those awake at that time and earlier? Murderers and taxi drivers.) It’s dark enough to commit a crime, and it’s the best time to pick up people who made the wrong drinking choices the night before. As I am neither a murderer (would love to solve one, though) nor a taxi driver, waking up at “5am” has never, ever been a voluntary option. So. Setting that kind of time for me to actually open my eyes and engage in normal, human activities like getting dressed and getting in the car was extremely laughable.
All of that said, the idea that I would then take my exhausted brain/body, tired and trapped within an unholy hour, into a gym to commence with exercise? Yeah, one of the more amusing delusions I’ve ever entertained.
But I did it.
You read that right. Today marks Day Two of my former delusion of grandeur. Personally, I think it’s now a reasonable goal.
For the past two mornings, I have jumped (ok, there was no jumping) out of bed, put on my socks and shoes (I slept in my workout clothes; this is intrinsic because having to wake up and actually put them on would mean getting right back into bed), and headed straight out. Woo hoo!
The first morning was interesting. I got on the elliptical, had the music blasting on the iPod, and subsequently, after 22 minutes, thought I was going to lose my non-breakfast. I quickly moved to the treadmill and spent the remainder of the hour there, holding on to the bars in case the nausea and dizziness returned. In hindsight, I think not eating before exercising caused the nausea; although I can’t imagine eating that early in morning, something had to be burned off, and having an early dinner the night before didn’t help. As a solution, I bought some Gatorade, aka, liquid carbs. This morning, I had no problem at all. No nausea, no dizziness, no problem.
I’ve heard several variations on how long it takes to form a habit. Everything from five days to 66 days. Whatever the answer is, I certainly hope this new reasonable goal becomes a habit. It’s going to continue to undoubtedly hurt. I’m going to continue to lay in bed, gaze at the ceiling, and commence with all kinds of bargaining (“it’s ok if you miss a day; who will know but you?”) and reasoning (“you need to sleep!”) to get out of it. But I made concessions for that with the goal itself, didn’t I? It’s reasonable. Four days out of the week instead of an unrealistic seven days; going to bed by “9:30pm”, at the latest, to ensure that I least get 7.5 hours of sleep, if not 8, if I can get into bed by “9:00pm.” It can be done. Just needs discipline, consistency, and some form of painful self-pinching to get myself going. And a dose of reality, as well, because I won’t always get it 100% done. But that’s ok.
In the end, I hope for more early mornings. (Pigs just took to flight, dear reader, with the utterance of that statement.)
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