Okay, so I missed a day
I'm not displaying the NaBloPoMo button this year anyway, and couldn't figure out how to make the official website let me sign up to be listed as a participant, so I'm not going to get too upset about skipping a day.
So, why didn't I post last night? Because I was too busy eating more pizza than I should have, drinking more diet cream soda (with caffeine, I found out too late) than I should have, and deconstructing the pageant scene in Little Miss Sunshine nine hundred million times in a row while simultaneously drinking lots of water and running on the treadmill in the middle of the night to work off the carbs in all that pizza, that's why.
And even after all that running I was still 20 points higher than I like to be this morning. So now I know – one slice of pizza is fine. Four slices, not fine. Even when the whole pie is only 12" across, and is made in the fashion known locally as "New Haven- style" pizza, meaning the whole wheat crust is only slightly thicker than a fat-free baked tortilla chip, and equally crunchy.
Anyway. This morning's high was not sustained, as I spent the rest of the day buzzing around helping Mr. A get ready for another week-long training in Southern California. This afternoon I drove him to the airport and then on the way home stopped to pick up some additional drawers for the Ikea cabinet we installed last year. As anyone knows who's ever been to Ikea, that place is good to burn at least a couple hundred carbs just walking in the door ... it's exhausting, and I've never been to one yet without getting good and lost at least once, and spending a half hour or more just wandering around trying to figure out how to get out of the place with my stuff.
And yes, I know Ikea is evil, and I would not want one in my own town ... though there would seem to be very little chance of that happening. We're too far off the freeway.
All the way home the traffic was terrible. It was pouring rain, and everyone was driving all crazed and distracted, and I saw three bad-looking accidents between the airport and the exit that takes me out of heavy traffic and back onto the little two-lane canyon road toward my own sleepy little valley. I was five miles down that road before I noticed how much I had relaxed. Maybe it's just because I hardly ever drive anymore, and even if I do I rarely leave the valley, but somehow driving amongst a lot of other cars makes me much more tense these days than it ever used to.
I liked being the only car on the road, driving in complete darkness around the curves through heavy fog and drizzle and every once in awhile seeing in the distance the friendly-looking lights on the front of someone's barn.
Of course there are houses too, and the whole area is actually pretty thoroughly populated with humans, but compared to Sacramento, San Francisco or the East Bay, it's pretty quiet up here. And maybe I would get used to it if I lived in a city again, but for me the country, and this little piece of land I live on in particular, is the only place I feel like I can really breathe.
So, why didn't I post last night? Because I was too busy eating more pizza than I should have, drinking more diet cream soda (with caffeine, I found out too late) than I should have, and deconstructing the pageant scene in Little Miss Sunshine nine hundred million times in a row while simultaneously drinking lots of water and running on the treadmill in the middle of the night to work off the carbs in all that pizza, that's why.
And even after all that running I was still 20 points higher than I like to be this morning. So now I know – one slice of pizza is fine. Four slices, not fine. Even when the whole pie is only 12" across, and is made in the fashion known locally as "New Haven- style" pizza, meaning the whole wheat crust is only slightly thicker than a fat-free baked tortilla chip, and equally crunchy.
Anyway. This morning's high was not sustained, as I spent the rest of the day buzzing around helping Mr. A get ready for another week-long training in Southern California. This afternoon I drove him to the airport and then on the way home stopped to pick up some additional drawers for the Ikea cabinet we installed last year. As anyone knows who's ever been to Ikea, that place is good to burn at least a couple hundred carbs just walking in the door ... it's exhausting, and I've never been to one yet without getting good and lost at least once, and spending a half hour or more just wandering around trying to figure out how to get out of the place with my stuff.
And yes, I know Ikea is evil, and I would not want one in my own town ... though there would seem to be very little chance of that happening. We're too far off the freeway.
All the way home the traffic was terrible. It was pouring rain, and everyone was driving all crazed and distracted, and I saw three bad-looking accidents between the airport and the exit that takes me out of heavy traffic and back onto the little two-lane canyon road toward my own sleepy little valley. I was five miles down that road before I noticed how much I had relaxed. Maybe it's just because I hardly ever drive anymore, and even if I do I rarely leave the valley, but somehow driving amongst a lot of other cars makes me much more tense these days than it ever used to.
I liked being the only car on the road, driving in complete darkness around the curves through heavy fog and drizzle and every once in awhile seeing in the distance the friendly-looking lights on the front of someone's barn.
Of course there are houses too, and the whole area is actually pretty thoroughly populated with humans, but compared to Sacramento, San Francisco or the East Bay, it's pretty quiet up here. And maybe I would get used to it if I lived in a city again, but for me the country, and this little piece of land I live on in particular, is the only place I feel like I can really breathe.
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Welcome to non-perfection. You're a powerhouse of one.
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