Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes

I And Love And You -The Avett Brothers

This is the kind of song that reminds of all the things I wish I were doing, and yet makes me feel like my shadow is realigned with my body again.

Why you so obsessed with me?

It's really hard to fall asleep when you have "Not That Kind of Girl" (courtesy of Jojo) stuck in your head--which, funnily enough, also makes it hard to maintain any kind of dignity.

At work we have Christmas music playing--the same songs day in and day out. Mostly it's Clay Aiken (someone, PLEASE, put some arsenic in my hot cocoa) and Mariah Carey. I am not a Mariah fan, but every time I hear "I don't want a lot for Christmas..." I instead think of what is perhaps in the top 1,000 of history's greatest songs, "Heartbreaker." It's from her "Rainbow" album, not to be confused with her later CD, "Charmbracelet." Yes. I'd repeat that, but I'm too busy putting on more lip gloss and petting my purse-sized poodle.

Miracle that she's not living up in a tree

Oops. Just spent an hour paging through old posts on The Sartorialist.

Can I just say how much warmth I feel toward Scott Schuman? So much.

I'm sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place

I was just a few minutes into my run tonight when I realized I'd forgotten something: running is hard. When I look back at the times when I was running a lot (oh hey, 2008, what's up?), I usually just remember how good I felt and the freedom of the open pavement with just me, the shorts I found in a DI box, and some sweet tunes (anything from 1983, Counting Crows, and some funky rap version of "Sweet Home Alabama"). But tonight did not feel good. It might be my recent YEAR absence from regular physical activity. It might be the extra sixteen pounds I've been toting around. *Let's take a moment here and pause at that number: SIXTEEN POUNDS. That's like having a hefty newborn strapped to each side.* At any rate, tonight wasn't exactly enjoyable.

For a while I was thinking about joining a gym. However, I'm not wild about working out inside and in the close vicinity of other people. So I got myself a few cold-weather-running clothes and called it good. If "good" can be defined as my voluptuous thighs being encased in fitted black pants... maybe not. But I think this running thing will work out, eventually. And I'm sure that IN TIME I will feel just fabulous. And IN TIME I will once again fit into about five pairs of jeans that are folded neatly in my closet. And IN TIME I'll be excited to lace up my shoes and velcro on my patellar strap. But right now it's hard. And my behind, thighs, and stomach are all trying to one up each other in a Jello-jigglers-impersonation contest (Bill Cosby would be proud).

So here's to going running a few more times this week and getting back into the habit of something good. Here's to reminding myself that good things usually take effort and exerting myself in that effort is good in and of itself. And here's to me stopping all my kvetching and just getting some miles in.