despite my promise to myself to make my latter thirties a time of more zen, i am constantly finding myself relapsing to some sort of eco-harpy state. also, i am so so sick and tired of the north american thing. you know the thing of which i speak, no? the thing that manifests itself in sterile lawns, big box stores, germophobia, prepackaged food, oversized houses and hollywood films which i am increasingly unable to sit through (so sorry cop out, men who stare at goats, zombieland, avatar, sherlock holmes and god knows what else).
i must work harder, i guess. but who can blame me? i have just turned 38 and i hate, hate, hate the number 8 (i have told you before but damned if i'll hurl myself backwards through time to find the appropriate link*) because it is bloated, greyish and vaguely damp. i hated 18 and i hated 28. i can't remember hating 8 but that's because i was young, stupid and most likely frittering away my time fluffing my large eastern european pony tail ribbons. also, my synesthesia hadn't fully set in at that point, so i was likely blissfully ignorant of the more insidious qualities of the number 8.
so, what to do? breathing deeply helps. i am also giving up on listening to the news yet again, not that i took it up with great enthusiasm, but i have been giving a listen every now and again and it is rather dispiriting to find yourself telling the radio that you really do not give a shit about yet another armed conflict between muslims and christians in which people died. it is not nice. it makes you realise there is an aspect of your personality best kept under wraps. oh...oops.
to add insult to injury (or to butter the french fry, so to speak), i have just been weighed at the old lady gym i frequent and it turns out that over the course of the last year that i have been a member, i have gained 17 lb. and please, do not tell me it is muscle. i have it on good authority that the jiggling blob around my mid-section is definitely not muscle. to that end, i have decided to revisit my previously successful south beach diet, which was going along swimmingly until my stupid birthday on saturday derailed it. mr. monkey took it upon himself to surprise me with my favourite dessert, creme brulee, home made edition, and it was good. oh god it was good. i did to it what i do to all good and yummy things that have strayed into my house - ate it as quickly as possible to get it the hell out of my sight. so we'll see what happens.
wish me luck, ok?
*i did. but only because i love you so much. and because it was easy.