Tuesday, August 07, 2007


Self-conscious about my arms. My Sunday soccer team wears sleeveless jerseys and three times over the course of the season I have had my teammates ask me if I’ve been working out. I’m afraid I’m getting man arms.

Guilty. My cousin Danielle’s birthday was last Wednesday and I still haven’t called or emailed her.

Anxious about my grad school personal statement. I want it done and enviably perfect rightthissecond. I’ve made some good headway over the past two days – it isn’t like I’m stuck in a stalemate – I’m not at a point of desperation. My transcripts haven’t arrived yet, anyway, and they won’t look at my application until they do.

Hungry. But I don’t like to eat my lunch too early, because then I’m starving again before the end of the day.

Embarrassed of my feet. This soccer season has absolutely trashed my feet. If you’re looking for bruised and broken toenails, calluses, blisters, swollen toes, and general nastiness, I’m your girl. Otherwise, you might want to stay away from me when I’m wearing sandals.

Excited for Kevin and his wife. They’re having a boy!

Cold. I got to work today in the midst of a torrential downpour. Despite my adorable pink umbrella, I got plenty wet. I’m dry now, but I still haven’t been able to warm up. Am currently drinking hot water in an attempt to warm my innards and my hands.

Unmotivated. Last week, work was an endless barrage of exhausting crap thrown on me from all angles. Yesterday was much the same. Today I can see (a sliver of) the surface of my desk and I think I would like to spend my afternoon reading blogs and checking my email every four minutes.

Sleepy. I made an ice cream pie last night to bring to work today. Due to kickboxing class and a terribly long line at the grocery store, I didn’t get started on it until 9:00 pm. And you have to wait between layers. I definitely had to set my alarm clock for 1:00 am and drag my ass out of bed to slop on the final layer. It’s a damn fine ice cream pie, though. It’ll be worth it.

Inarticulate. This is one boring-ass excuse for a blog entry, if you ask me.

At least I tried.


Stace said...

Regardless of what you think of as blog post, I always enjoy reading the writing you come up with. I'm never as detailed as you can be it's amazing. :)

Stacey Brandow said...

Girl, don't ever feel self conscious about those arms. I'd be like, "hell yes, I work out!". :)

A said...

Awww. You both are too sweet. XO!

my life is brilliant said...

Last March -- right about the time I started wearing more short-sleeved shirts -- I started getting a lot of comments on my arms. A lot. In fact, I had two guys use the words (independently of each other, I might add) "bulging triceps."

I started worrying that I was crossing that too-think line between being toned and being butchy.

I got really busy and wound up not getting to keep up as much at the gym, so my arms lost the definition they'd had before. I looked at pictures from then and thought, "Man, I want that back!"

I worked at it and got my arms back to where they were, and I'm proud! I guess I needed to see them both ways. :)

A said...

Okay, okay. I'll leave the arms alone. I suppose they're okay like they are.

And - really - I should appreciate them 'cause I don't have to work so hard for them. Which makes me lucky.

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