m m m,

Yawn. I’m too old to stay out until 1 AM, particularly on a school night, but at the time it seemed the thing to do. Henna, the dice game called Bunco, ice cream pie and a bottle of Cupcake wine might have been involved. Also a full moon, as well as some twinkle lights.

Three days after kickboxing, I no longer feel 152 years old, so that’s progress. Everything except for my feet and my face hurt, and then I kinked my neck, on top of it all. So maybe yoga helped yesterday, or maybe it was just time and sleep. Which I didn’t get enough of last night, but I think I already mentioned that. Anyway, out of all the harder-core classes at the gym, kickboxing seems the most feasible, and least boring, and least likely to kill me off but still provide a challenge. It’s definitely a challenge, especially since it’s been over 5 years since my last attempts, and even those weren’t so breakneck (kink-necked?) paced. But you know I enjoy kicking and punching the shit out of imaginary targets; it feels productive somehow. As opposed to cycling into an imaginary distance or jumping around for the thrill of fallen arches.

When’s the last time I challenged myself physically, I wonder? Am I as strong physically as I am mentally (no) and do I care? Should I devote energy to this cause just to explore what it means? These are some of my ponderings this week. And in yoga, our intent was to hear our inner music, and mine was the ocean, which sort of surprised me.

I’ll pick up our book again for sure. I was waiting for your go. In the meantime, I finished my YA novel and picked up another one about almost-dying, and the jacket copy is so cheesy I nearly slapped the book out of J.Lo’s hands when he picked it up off the counter. Because if I weren’t me, I’d definitely make fun of me for reading it. But I love a good YA book, I really do.

I’ve got chocolate-chip cookies to eat and must figure out what on earth to do with all those green onions.

pen