A triumphant(?) return to exorcism

I committed myself to dance classes tonight. Work, be damned, I’m going back to dance! I’ve missed it way too much. I’m going to throw myself into Ballet with X, so I suspect I’m going to be omg-I’m-dying-sore on Thursday.

This upcoming weekend is officially summer. June means swimming season. I don’t know if I’m ready, but then again, I’m never really ready to swim in the frigid La Jolla waters*, so I’ll just have to go for it and dive into the Cove. And freak out. And swim (paddle?) to Shores.

Time to get to the bench so I can get to dance tonight!

*My brother-in-law who swims in the SF bay is chuckling to himself right now, I know it. “60? TROPICAL.”

Early morning thoughts

I saw a Freshly Pressed blog post titled “Bonfire after finals” and was reminded of that bonfire after senior year of high school where the more cavalier/less sentimental of us graduates burned our senior portfolios in the pits at Shores. We spent so many weekends at Shores that summer, from stake-out at dawn until well past midnight. We wondered about the future, we said we’d stay friends. Nine years later, here I am. How many of those friendships do I still have? Two? Three?

Nine years since high school. Over five since finishing university. Sometimes, when I see my classmates from college finishing advanced degrees, a wave of fretting laps at my feet — what do I have to show for these five years? — but it’s brief. I remind myself of the damned hard lesson I’ve learned on living with this body and the two years lost to it. Now, I’ve far bypassed the job duties I was hired for. I’ve made solid plans for the next three years.

And that’s good enough for me.

SRSLY. FO’ REAL.

When you’ve already worked 50 hours before Friday and you don’t have a proper breakfast or lunch, you wind up in conversations like this:

m: oh, just FUCK THIS SHIT
    FUCK IT
a: YES, I AGREE
    WHOLEHEARTEDLY
    WITH GUSTO

Just a little hangry.