HW helpfully pointed out while we were walking last weekend that I am edging closer to thirty-one. The thought surprised me. Sometimes I forget I’m thirty, I haven’t really started to think about thirty-one.
And now, two hundred days of posts. Crazy.
I feel like I should have something profound to say. I do not. It was a long, long, long Monday. Nothing terrible happened. In fact, nothing bad happened. It was just long, and I was tired.
Part of it, I think, is all of the eating out we’ve been doing. We all feel better when we eat healthy, homemade food, and even though we’ve tried to make healthy choices, living without a fridge has not been ideal. I haven’t been drinking enough water either. Also. It’s Monday. Sometimes Mondays just feel long.
I have been studying half as much as I should and writing twice as much. When I was in middle school, I would take a math test I wasn’t prepared for, know I failed, and then pray to God to let me pass with a “B,” promising all kinds of things if my prayers were answered. It never worked. Not one time. I hope to come up with a more solid plan before the end of next month, but nothing jumps to mind.
The writing has been good though. It’s interesting to think back on things and realize what I remember and what I don’t. I wonder if there will come a day when I truly forget what it is to be really cold, like, chilled to the bone cold.
One of these nights I’m going to sit down with something more substantial to say. That night is not tonight, and it seems silly to try to force it.