I'm feeling better today. I slept pill-less last night, though I still didn't even go into the bedroom until close to twelve. I slept hard and dreamless, which is my norm. Even more exciting, I literally dropped 2.5 pounds overnight. See? Not real weight. Stress weight.
This morning I had a great chest workout and run on the elliptical. I gotta say though - I don't think I'll ever have a great looking chest. I'd like to, but my muscle structure for my pec muscles just isn't super-sweet. Such are my woes...
In other news... no other news. I packed more last night. I watched Biggest Loser and was happy for Ron as he crossed the finish line for the marathon, even if it took him 13 hours to complete. Pretty amazing force of will out of him. I sometimes feel watching that show like I could cry for the amazing achievements of these people, and how much they've grown during the course of the show, but then I remember that real men don't cry and so I don't. But my heart still goes out to each and every one of the people on that show. Plus Allison Sweeny is hot, even if her overly-empathetic delivery rings false most times. Isn't she an actress by trade? No wonder she's still doing daytime soaps...
Tonight is the penultimate Lost for this season, though as I'm from Minnesota we don't actually use words like penultimate, we use phrases like second-to-last instead. So I'm looking forward to watching the second-to-last Lost of the season. It's gotten to be pretty damn trippy this year, but I really like it. I just hope I don't drink too many sodas or eat too many chips as I watch.
Oh, my place looks like a dump as I try to pack. I've got stuff strewn all about the joint, and it drives me nuts. A year and a half ago (is there a bigger vocabulary word that encompasses that amount of time? If there was would my Midwestern roots allow me to use it?) my friend Dan came over to help me. My place was a total, and I mean TOTAL disaster area. My front closet was bursting with junk (it's a storage closet and stretches some 15 feet back and is 3 feet wide), there were giant piles of trash everywhere. You literally could not walk from the front door to the couch only on carpet. You had to step on clothes and garbage and trash and whatever else was littering my place. But that day that Dan came over, we worked on the apartment for eight straight hours. I think I filled up 8 grocery CARTS with bags of garbage, big pieces of furniture, and whatever else I wanted gone. Looking back, I can honestly say that that day was the first day of healing for me. I'd decided that I just could not allow myself to live like that any longer. The level of cleanliness was an emotional barometer for how I was feeling. So now I do my best to clean up my place every week. I tend to take my car to get washed weekly too now. My standard may not be up to some others' standards, but I'm okay with that. I still put the effort in, because it makes me feel so much better living in a place that's clean. That's treated with respect. It's a sign that I respect myself. So to have stuff strewn all about now as I'm deconstructing my apartment and putting it into boxes is kind of tough. I see the huge mess and I start feeling a little nutty. Like, if I accept that the place is a bit of a dump, then I could start backsliding into that place I fought and still fight daily to free myself from.
Wow... that became somewhat rambly. I should really think about rereading this post and editing it to make it tighter and more readable. At the same time, this chick thinks I'm funny and raw, so perhaps leaving this post raw is a better reflection of who I am? Not that I put too many jokes in here today.