I want glasses. I want hipster glasses. I’ve even found a few in stores, but the makers are always presumptuous enough to put some sort of magnification in the little lenses to ensure that glasses can only go to elitists with real vision problems.
…We all knew this would happen.
Last night, and for the past several nights, I’ve felt a particular sense of ennui that’s common at the tail-end of summer. I’ve done all the fun things for three months, and because I’ve done so much of them, they don’t seem like fun anymore. I’m itching to be in charge of something again. I’m dying for some responsibility.
Hey blog friends. Sorry for the repeat blog post. The publish button looks more pushable than the preview button sometimes. This one should work. I try to be selective about which causes I jump onto, but this is one that I think we can all get behind.
He will henceforth be referred to as Shia. Not because we’re on first name basis already, but because spelling Shia’s last name is a chore.
Anyways, after building my Pinterest scorecard to chart all my cooking goodness, I decided I’d had it with cooking for the… decade… so Jeremy agreed to meet me at CPK where we had a giftcard. I walked there, because public transportation is expensive, and as I was crossing the crosswalk, I encountered a bearded, long-haired, excessively grungy Shia. He clearly was doing his darndest not to be noticed… But I consider myself a celebrity expert (tried and failed to spell efficianado. Any help? I’ve never read it, only heard it), so there was no way he could get past me so cavalierly.
Usually, my reoccurring nightmares involve some tangible, albeit unlikely, stress of mine: my teeth crumble in my mouth, I get pregnant, I forget my Santa outfit as I am about to speak at graduation… you know, things that could actually happen. And I wake up with my shoulders taut, and I’m breathing heavy.
I haven’t been terribly homesick since I got to Chicago, but today I found myself a little achey–not just from all the walking.
I missed Utah. I missed my Sugar House neighborhood parade. And I missed all the Republican Patriots! No one really sported the old Red White and Blue. I missed the local marching bands and the musics and the glow sticks and the kids with streamers on their bikes. I could not track down a single piece of salt water taffy.
I don’t think I was programmed with the usual “Fight or Flight” Tendencies. I think when I am startled, adrenaline starts flowing out my tear ducts, and it might be easy to mistake the adrenaline juice for tears running down my cheeks.
I’ve had several incidents to prove this, but most recently, I tried to go grocery shopping at the “far away, cheaper, more enjoyable” grocery store. I figured I would save enough money to justify taking a taxi back to our apartment.
Since I’ve become a temporary “Stay-At-Home-Novelist/Blogger/Pinterester/Reader/Lesson Planner,” I’ve spent a lot of time on my computer. You may have noticed. I’m a little embarrassed about it, but I am being more productive than you’d think.
I should probably apologize to any of you who felt the world stop spinning somewhere between 7:00 and 8:00 this morning. That’s because Jeremy and I put the world on pause and just allowed ourselves to believe for a moment that we had all the time in the world to just be. We lapsed into a comfortable cuddle–not the kind filled with pointy scapulas, uneven weight distribution, and a little too much muscle tension. This cuddle was perfect and relaxing as we drifted in and out of sleep, and dreamed together about spending an entire day with the world on pause.
This morning I did a braid, turned around, and asked Jeremy if it looked alright in the back. He replied, “I think so,” and then became surprised when I immediately took it out.
“Wait!” he cried, “I meant it looks fine!”
“Exactly,” I told him, attempting another braid.