Lazy Sunday

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.

Drops of Jupiter

On Saturday, John and I went to a stargazing event at one of the physics buildings downtown. I thought it would be one of those typical free, family-oriented events where no one shows up and you’re stuck watching 8-year-olds draw pictures of planets, and maybe glance through a telescope at the cloudy sky. Don’t call me a pessimist; I just like to set my expectations low sometimes, to avoid disappointment and also to get excited when something turns out to be fun.

Anyway, it was fun. We watched some awkward grad students play an astronomy quiz show. I felt good about myself because I totally got the answer to one of the questions, which was to guess song names (Jeopardy-style) that have to do with planets. My love of 90s music proved useful when I named-that-tune by Train.

We also went out onto the rooftop deck (technically not the rooftop, since I think there were higher floors. The almost-rooftop deck?) and the clouds cleared away. It was freezing, but I got to peek through a big telescope (I always want to say microscope…) and saw the moon. And its craters. And Jupiter, which really just looked like the brightest star in the sky. Through the lens, you could make out a faint ring or two around the planet, and see its 4 moons. I tried to explain this feeling to John and my friends who were there, and still can’t make sense of it, but somehow the images magnified just looked fake to me. Almost as if I were a kid, flipping through the images on those glasses that showed, for instance, photos of jungle animals or Disney scenes. Does anyone remember those? They came before video games. And now I feel old.

Somehow, looking through the lens and seeing that planet, and that moon, up close just wasn’t as good as staring up at the sky, unassisted by instruments. 

We also talked to a grad student, or possibly a post-doc, who was in the “sort of final round” of 1,000+ applicants for this colonization of Mars project. Apparently we’re going there in 2025, and a group of 4 geniuses (or at least non-psychopaths, and non-claustrophobics) will kick off the (televised, of course) experience. I’m picturing it like the latest reality show. Instead of the Kardashians and all of those gold-digging (literal and metaphorical) shows, we’ll be watching cat fights and pregnant teen dramas on the moon one day. 

The “R” Word

Normally, I start thinking about what I’d like to do differently in the upcoming year immediately after Christmas. But for the first time, New Year’s Eve came and went (with a bang– lots of bangs–as the Nuremberg sky lit up with fireworks and smoke so thick you had to climb through it), and I found myself kissing my husband and not really thinking about anything else.

Then I remembered, oh yeah, this is when I should resolve to do something about those habits I still keep although they don’t do me any good. Or to put it in a more positive light, this is the time of year where the collective desire to effect change gives us the momentum we need to begin. Beginning is the hardest part. John gave me the scientific interpretation earlier today– something about a moment of momentum, and overcoming that energy barrier– but understanding it* still might not inspire us to do anything about it*.

*it: That feeling of procrastination. I-know-I-should-just-start-but-don’t-wanna. The motivation to start.

Today, I went for a rainy run and thought about all of those little things I do or don’t do that annoy me, and reflected on how all those other times I made New Year’s resolutions that didn’t pan out, and I realized that those other resolutions lacked…well, resolve, really. And accountability. It’s easy to keep intentions in mind, and then to berate ourselves when we inevitably forget those intentions months later, because we never put them into practice.

So to keep it simple, my resolution is to write more. And read more. I’ll be a pretty crappy librarian someday if I never read, right?

Also: To not feel like a failure for not having the aforementioned career that I got my Master’s degree for. It doesn’t hurt to cast a wider net when it comes to jobs and business experience.

And finally: To give myself more credit. Which is probably a resolution that’s good for everyone.