dear m,

Should I try the RPM spin class tomorrow at the gym? I’m a little scared. I’ve been meaning to for awhile, but… I mean besides that I haven’t done any sort of biking in forever, and the people there are all… scary gung-ho while I pine for the peace of yoga. My knee also has that weird clicky problem and I’m just not sure.

But Fridays require plans. Otherwise, downward spiraling occurs. J.Lo does not arrive home until late, etc. It’s a long day. It can be a very, very long day if precautions aren’t taken.

I do plan to dust, perhaps, as part of my dusting crusade this week, although I don’t feel any more fond of dusting after completing two rooms thus far. And some laundry. Whites.

Meanwhile, I’m loving Farm Town, which I play through N.Lo’s FB account, although I’m jealous of all my neighbors’ pretty farms, and wonder if I’ll ever get there. Will planting potatoes and hiring farm hands to harvest them help?

I’m going to NYC! Woot. On Sept. 11, but we won’t consider any sort of superstition or oddness attached to the date. I’m visiting nephew. And it’s a girls’ weekend, too, with no pesky little children around. Hooray!

Also in the meantime, I’m becoming disillusioned with activism. Like the first question I want to ask any so-called grassroots movement is, what evil corporation is funding you for their own benefit. And then we can talk. Otherwise, I want to stop sending letters and reading the drivel you send me through email.

Oh, and speaking of evil corporations who will be allowed to take over the world if they haven’t already, I hate AT&T for not accepting my return of a clunky, $20 piece of plastic that served briefly as a case for my new phone. Don’t even get me started. I planned on drafting a poison pen letter this evening, but alas, I didn’t even know who to send it to.

For now, I’m thinking Top Chef Masters finale, and some goat cheese.

xoxo,

pen