Spring reflective

So, no, I guess I didn’t really go. I mean, I went, and it was ok, I had fun and all, but I would rather be back here.

Which is, come to think of it, basically what Carl and I say to each other every time we leave our apartment.

I swear, some day I’m going to have an awesome, writerly blog, and it’ll be all posh and professional and full of keen insights. I like to think it’s all because I can’t find a site/template/host/style that I like. That must be it, right?

Although, I have a passing suspicion it also has to do with the fact that I have very little ability to self-edit. Also audience issues. I’ve always wanted to write in both the Christian and secular field, which means it’s impossible to have one blog. Or else you end up all zen and cracked out like Buechener (whom I ADORE, truly) and get all hedgy and politely cough when the question of a literal hell arises.

Things like that.

Also spent several months this winter being exercised in what I believe about gender issues, which is good—right?—to be challenged and to have to work through things, but it’s sort of like trying to work out and host a tea party at the same time, you know? Cream or lemon, one says, covertly hoisting the dumb bell in one’s left.

But, I have always been miserable when I can’t say what’s on my mind.

Speaking of exercising, one has finally grown weary enough of the marital fifteen to do something about it. I now get outside daily and subsist on cottage cheese, cold cereal, and fruit until dinner. I feel vaguely guilty about my lack of vegetables, but since I genuinely enjoy what I’m eating and never go hungry, I suppress the carroty shame.

One down, nine to go.

(Carl has the opposite problem. He found out recently that Pavel Datsyuk—best forward for the Red Wings—is his same height and weighs 197 pounds. Pure muscle. The chin up bar has not moved from our bedroom door for the last week).

Ah, spring! A young man’s fancy probably does turn to love, but we are getting on toward thirty, and spring is definitely more about tennis than romance in our abode.

Anyway, love is good all year, right?

[Em the Fantastic just dropped by. We talked for four hours straight, went to a used book store, witnessed an entire shelf of books fall to the ground (not our fault!), and drank coffee. Brilliant day, but yeah, should probably try to get something useful done before Carl gets home.]

Cheers.