There is a light that never goes out

The worst part about this whole bein’ sick thing is that I’ve had to put my swimming on hold. And I just learned how to do kick turns!

I took advanced swimming lessons in college, and I’m pretty sure they taught us how to do them then, but I seem to remember practicing them a couple of times and then deciding they were too much work for what was just recreational fun for me at the time.

Well, in my inimitable fashion for overdoing everything, I have registered for a couple of open water races this summer. So now I am, I suppose, officially in training. Suddenly kick turns seem a lot more interesting to me.

Of course they are no help in the ocean, of course, thank god, but in order to prove to myself that I can, in fact, swim more than two miles non-stop without ceasing and without the luxury of stopping, I think it would be prudent to start employing them in my daily workouts. Before we have to involve sexy rescue lifeguards in canoes in Provincetown harbor.

Hang on a mo’…

No, forget it, no amount of proximity to hunky gay lifeguards can be counterbalanced by the mortification of puking up seawater in their faces. Kick turns it is.

Is that even what they are called? Or am I just confusing them with that thing Gene Kelly does with a lamppost in Singin’ in the Rain?

The dumb and the restless

It’s Friday night again, and bored bored bored am I. I now get why people make such an unholy fuss about going out on Friday and Saturday night — when you only get a couple of days to sleep in, you like to take advantage. I used to think people were just like sheep, and they went out on weekends just because everyone else did.

I wasn’t thinking clearly. Or rather, I was thinking like a restaurant worker.

Cooks and waiters go out on Monday nights. Well, actually they go out every night, but that’s another story.

I’m now sufficiently acclimated to the working life that I have more than enough energy to go out at night, too. The first little while, I needed my sleep like heroin. Now I am less of a junkie. I can stay up past my bedtime and still be productive the next day.

But now! Just coming home and having a cup of tea and some quiet time on a Friday night is bumming me out. What’s there to do? I’m a young, professional, culturally hip person! I crave stimulation! And, as my friend Tom used to say to explain why he always went out to bars all the time, all the libraries and museums are closed!

It’s also super windy, which always makes me restless. When I was in grad school, and it was windy like this, I used to go out walking all night long. I had this amazing black duster that flapped around my ankles as I stalked the backroads of Syracuse’s University neighborhood. Then sometimes I’d hitch a ride up to the Inn Complete (the grad students’ clubhouse, kind of) and prowl for hotness.

That’s what I feel like doing right now. Prowling. Like a feline. Thinking predatious thoughts.

Well, I’ve got the wind, and I think I’ve still got the duster, and now I don’t need to bum a ride — I’ve got my own. Maybe I’ll just hit the town on my own. I at least need some fellow human interaction.

Wish I had bought those cowboy boots when I had the money.

Baby's on Fire

It’s a damn good thing the temperatures are supposed to drop tonight, because this spring-like weather is making me giddy as a schoolgirl. Specifically, a nineteen-year-old schoolgirl high on pure endorphins.

Yeah, I’ve been working out, and yeah, that has significantly elevated my metabolism and energy level. And yes, I have an awesome new job that stimulates my imagination and challenges my skills and makes me excited to go to work in the morning. And sure, OK, maybe I’ve been doing other things that lend themselves to little emotional hard-ons of a pleasing variety. Like a little harmless flirting.

But I am seriously having flashbacks to being nineteen when I was regularly swept up in great surges of giddy fun and reckless optimism that are quite alarming, although no doubt fun to observe. They sure are fun from where I’m sitting!

I do mostly blame the daily workouts. Those exercise endorphins are serious business. And now that I am an entirely controlled-substance-and-alcohol-free kind of personage, maybe my brain is just grabbing onto and amplifying whatever high it can lay its grabby little metaphorical hands on. Greedy little junkie.

And temperatures well into the fifties are always good for surges of happiness, too. Add onto that it is the time of month during which I typical experience heightened emotions of whatever sort happen to present themselves anyway, and there you have it: Rock Grrrl is just a big old bag of rainbow sparkles right now.

In other news, I’ve been having fun throwing my voice around lately. I recorded a couple of radio spots a while back, then also I auditioned for some radio mystery theater not too long ago, which was an utter blast. And then today I got in the mail my new computer microphone that I ordered when Tony from Bowling for Jesus started badgering me for a voice clip. My first reaction was huh? And then I shook myself and remembered it is 2006 and I can just buy a gadget for that, so I did and today I sent him a quick little clip which he claims will make his spine tingle, as he has some sort of American Female Voice fetish. Eh, to each his own. Glad to be of service.

Then I wanted to go all-out and post a voice post here, but blogger doesn’t seem to support that. Give me a few more days of this manic energy surge, I’ll figure it out.


I went out for a bite after work with a friend, but I didn’t eat much and NOW I HUNGER.

God, and I am still so full of juice. Let’s go out! Have some fun! Anyone? Anyone?

Hotchie mama

Today I am liking all sorts of things that I did not like merely yesterday.

  • My cute-as-a-button new haircut, now that I have f*cked with it to my satisfaction.
  • Cooking dinner
  • Wearing makeup
  • Planning what to wear to an important meeting tomorrow

I am basically feeling more than a little hot-to-trot today, and a few of the words I’d like to thank for that are:

and let’s not forget

  • ten


  • pounds

Tomorrow, I think, should be brought to us by the words:

  • New


  • Cowboy


  • Boots

Don’t you?

Hamster wheel

Will someone please tell the rabid little hamsters in my brain that these are the hours we use for sleeping, not for working? That I actually need a few hours of sleep before I can do all the importantly important URGENT URGENT things they are yelling at me about in their tinny little voices?

So much to do, so much to do, they fuss fussily at me as they consult their rodenty little PDAs and furiously tap at them with their tiny little PDA tapsticks.

Mustn’t forget, mustn’t forget, they mutter feverishly, nervously patting their tidy little hamster up-do’s, where they have tucked six or seven sharpened number two pencils in case of any sudden emergency that should require passing out a sufficient number of sharpened number two pencils.

Are you getting this down? they whisper crossly as they cross to and fro from ear to ear, from back of skull to front. Tsk, tsk, they only barely let me hear, what would you do without us?

All would be lost, all lost, reply the mice taking dictation in the secretary pool, chattering away on their laptops and shaking their pointy little heads with their sorrowful, reproving pointy little faces on them.

Great, I mumble in the back of my throat, where the tickle of their pacing has begun to penetrate, since you’re taking care of all that, can I maybe get some sleep?

TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK TSK they all erupt in cacaphonous unison, clacking all the more furiously at their keypads, tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk…