Archive for March, 2007

March 27th, 2007

» training log: 03/11 – 03/24

03/11 Sun: gym
03/12 Mon: gym
03/13 Tue: gym
03/14 Wed: gym
03/15 Thu: nada (walking?)
03/16 Fri: nada
03/17 Sat: nada

I kind of don’t want to think about the amount of dessert I ate last week, so let me just say: chocolate treasure chest. Filled with chocolate mousse. And berries. With cheesecake. And that, folks, was just for one meal. The Hyatt has the food thing down. (The service thing is another story entirely; I don’t think there was a single lunch where someone didn’t try to serve me the non-vegetarian entree, despite my special little bright turquoise card.)

…and that was where my attempt at an entry ended over a week ago. So. F’ing. Busy.

03/18 Sun: rest
03/19 Mon: 50 min C+S
03/20 Tue: riding
03/21 Wed: fam dinner
03/22 Thu: riding (lesson)
03/23 Fri: scrapbooking weekend! (aka nothing)
03/24 Sat: scrapbooking weekend!

March 9th, 2007

» training log: 03/04 – 03/10

03/04 Sun: 30 min C+S (JF Arms) & 8 min abs
03/05 Mon: rest (sick :( )
03/06 Tue: riding! <3
03/07 Wed: rest (fam dinner)
03/08 Thu: 50 min C+S
03/09 Fri: riding (lesson)
03/10 Sat: ?

I’m posting this week’s early, ’cause next week? Next week I’m going to be in sunny Saaan Diego. I leave tomorrow morning and don’t return until the afternoon of Sunday the 18th. My boss keeps leaving weather print-outs on my desk for me, and they’re fabulous: sunny and 83, sunny and 82, sunny and 82, etc. So long snow!

March 5th, 2007

» training log: 02/25 – 03/03

02/25 Sun: rest
02/26 Mon: riding
02/27 Tue: 50 min C+S
02/28 Wed: riding
03/01 Thu: riding (lesson) 50 min C+S
03/02 Fri: rest
03/03 Sat: rest

I got up at 5:10 on Tuesday morning to do that hour of aerobics. That? Dedication. (Actually, I have to confess it’s just good [or maybe bad, depending whether you side with sleep or sweat] timing — I woke up spontaneously, had the thought that I should get up and work out, and instantly felt guilty about really, really wanting to go back to sleep instead.)

I spent Thursday hoping the snow would let up, but by early afternoon they were closing schools and though I actually contemplated the drive out to the barn, in the end I decided to cancel my lesson. Which was a good thing: my instructor said she could hardly see the barn from the house, and when I was driving home they’d already closed the interstate heading south. Alas.

March 5th, 2007

» dreamtalk

I try, for the most part, to be vigilant about my packratishness. On the lookout for it, for that sly way it has of nudging open the back door and inviting in whole hosts of things I could do well without. I keep all sorts of extra things in boxes with their similars, and periodically comb through them. It’s meant to be a housecleaning sort of thing, and almost always turns into this long, dreamy period of reminiscing. Sometimes I wake up to myself hours later, things and things scattered all around me. I think I am going in the right direction in general, though — or at least not taking on much more than I’m weeding out.

Tonight I found an old envelope with a dream jotted on it. I’m always pleased with my past self for having taken the time to jot these sorts of things down, and then for not having tossed them away later, tempting as it is (especially the sort that are scribbled in shorthand on odd bits of paper — this one an envelope from a bank I belonged to briefly my senior year of high school, because they gave me a debit card without a cosigner even though I was a minor) — because usually the bit of scribble is enough to bring at least pieces of the dream back as vividly as when I first woke from it. And sometimes the gaps prove just as interesting.

In this one my dad and I are lost, trying to find our way to a movie theater; we’ve stopped and in order to navigate parking in a tight T-intersection my dad lifts our car as though it weighs nothing. My notes say there is a bus stop and my dad “walks across but no one will let us sit down because people are like that in this town.” And then there is a bit with a dark elevator shaft and a gas bomb and a shooting and a narrow escape to an occult shop where we pay an entrance fee and are later asked to pay it again, and I end up screaming at the owner. I’ve written that I order him to sit down and then I tell him the story of the day my dad and I have had — but when first reading my own scribble I thought it said that I scream, “Don’t yell at him. Now sit down. Tell him the story of your day.” And it seemed just the most delightful, delirious dream sort of thing to’ve happened, that I would order this man to sit down and tell us about his own day. Like there was this niggling of some universal life lesson beneath it all in my dream, this town being wretched because no one cares for one another, for the details of life on such a small, human level; that caring about someone’s day would transport us out of trouble. (Though of course that wasn’t the dream at all.)

And I’m afraid this will make no sense to anyone else, the way people’s dreams often don’t make sense to anyone but the dreamer. They’re such strange things, dreams; they mean in such unexpected ways that it’s hard to talk about them sometimes. Like trying to describe a color you’ve seen for the first time, or a taste you’ve just first tasted. Experiences too immediate for language.

March 2nd, 2007

» Friday folderol

I woke in the middle of last night laughing. My memory of the dream was scattered away by my surprise; I’d never woken up laughing before. I highly recommend it.

I also highly recommend free lunches at nice restaurants. It’s hours later and I’m still stuffed full of exquisite tomato basil soup, and a salad that included grapes someone had peeled and cut nickel-thin, and that glorious apple cobbler (which I last had two snowstorms ago, huh — apparently there’s something about picturesque winter weather that makes me want caramely cobbler). I really shouldn’t've had dessert since Jo and I are going out for Restaurant Week tonight, but — well, I did. And as long as I can get un-full in the next two and a half hours, I shan’t regret it. Fingers crossed.

Also, does anyone know where February went? I seem to have mislaid nearly all of mine. (Eight days to San Diego?! How did that happen?)