I don't have much to write about these days. Perhaps it is my woman of leisure status, but honestly there ain't much to scribble out. It's been humid in a way that I haven't experienced in a long while. When I step outside to let Olive relive herself at 8 am, it already feels as though mother nature herself has gotten a bee up her bonnet about nesting and has unnecessarily (and cruelly) bundled the world with a sopping wet wool blanket. Poor Olive. After she relieves herself she wants little to do with investigating the leaves and branches in the yard. She promptly returns to my side as if to beg with those melt your heart eyes: Can we please go back inside where there's air conditioning? And that is what we do. Return to some semblance of breath-ability and comfort.
I have been reading and finished my second summer book, Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls. She also wrote the very popular memoir, The Glass Castle. Read that one too. Super good read. Her second book, a novel by technicality because it is written in first person, is at heart, her grandmother's memoir. It had me from the very first page until the very last. Once again, I have read a book that leaves me wishing I wish I could have written that! But a novel? I don't know if I have the patience for all that detail and all the in-between that belongs to a novel. I am a poet by nature. I like the concise nature of its form. I can pack a punch in ten or twenty lines without having to give readers all the filler. Although...I will say that I am attempting to branch out a little more. This blog, for instance, is an example of that growth. I want to hone my skills as writer of creative nonfiction. I'm dipping my toe in the Gilbert - Sedaris - Didion pool. Whether or not I'll be able to perform an effortless butterfly in said waters remains to be seen. I'd like to believe I have the chops to give it a worthwhile attempt. One of my first attempts is the essay, "B&B."
I am also trying to get through my first issue of The New Yorker. I bought a subscription as a gift to myself for completing seven years of teaching. It is definitely a magazine of superior writing quality, but - not all the articles are of interest to me. There are a couple I'm going to scan or simply skip. Is that wrong? Can I not call myself a reader of The New Yorker if I commit such atrocities? Is it really an atrocity to skip articles in a magazine? I also subscribe to People (goes along with my quality TV watching lineup). I read every single article in People. Yeah, I know - it appears I still have a long way to go. Working on it.
I continue to exercise, walking Olive first and then either going for a run myself or hitting the elliptical. Although the scale says nothing is happening, I feel so much better than I did in June. I'm eating healthy, attempting to keep my cuisine simple and enjoyable. Occasionally I'll indulge in a summer treat here and there. I've also decided something. I'm done with counting calories. I'm done with doing "diets." I don't mind the occasional fast or cleanse, but I'm done with all the other crazy fads and whatnot. I know what to eat. I know how much of it to eat. I'm going to listen to my body and how I feel. The scale will always be there, I haven't been able to throw it out, but I'm not going to live and die by it anymore. You can hold me accountable on that one.
Today is day 30 of my beloved summer. I'm not panicking just yet, but I do feel a sense of the passage of summer time. I've got a few fun things lined up for August: Lunch with MJ, a trip to The Fake Beach (read: Lake Erie), T will be giving birth to Miss Daisy, and Mom is on a hunt to find cheap tickets so that she can come out for a visit.
Summer is NOT OVER yet.
Not no way, not no how.
Guess I did have a few things to write about.
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