Could I pick a more cliché title? The problem is, I’m feeling too lazy to think of a better one.
But it’s descriptive enough, and I’m not going for the next Great American Novel, anyway.
I left the house twice: first to walk to Headington for far too much produce and meat to fit into my mini-fridge, and then again for the usual 3-mile run with John. It wasn’t too cold. I was actually sweating on my way back from town, possibly due to too many layers of fleece and also because I had coconut oil on my head and just slapped a knit hat on top. Deep conditioning while grocery shopping – genius, I know.
I’m toying with the idea of doing one of those terrible healthy-eating cleanses because I feel really run down lately, and this one seems sane enough, albeit just as annoyingly evangelical as the others. But I like cheese and bacon and chocolate too much (we have this deliciousness in the house) and I’m not good at following rules. Maybe I should do something productive instead of whining about having unlimited access to yummy things. On a positive note, I got this in ebook format, and now my mini-fridge is full of colorful vegetables – a step in the right direction.
Yesterday, we watched Last Vegas, which just made me think about how old Michael Douglas and Kevin Kline are getting. That sounds terrible, but I mean it in a good way. You look at those actors and just think about how many days, weeks, years they’ve experienced. I complain about Mondays that feel too long, but one day I’ll look back and not remember anything about any particular Monday. Memory is marked in big events, and we probably forget most of the ordinary days. That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?
So I’ll try to enjoy the rest of this lazy Sunday, and the impending tomorrow. Because one day I’ll be as old as Michael Douglas, too, and I’d like to remember enjoying even Mondays.