This Just In: When Facebook is Down, We’re Forced to do Other Things.

I don’t know how I feel about capital letters, by the way. I always end up using them out of some grammar guilt wave that washes over me when writing in a journal/essay and/or blog form. Subtract the ‘a’ and use ‘fora’? What? Ugh. This week has been a confusing cloud of conscientiousness culling to say the least. Am I using words like that for the sake of using them? Yes, yes I am. Because I feel like the higher thinking portions of my brain are having a tough time living somewhere near my ankles. Not enough oxygen for the l’il fellers.

I have made some resolutions. I like to make them mid-year, so they have more chance of surviving than the ones made around our dubiously appointed Georgian (or is it Julian..I can never remember) ‘New Year’. Two things get in the way of that: drinking, and ‘Resolution Empathy’. Resolution Empathy is a real term in the sense that I say it and I’m a great believer in things that I say. It applies to any New Year’s party reveler who, when caught in a discussion concerning one’s resolve, feels compelled to have as many (if not more) flaws what need correcting as the other person/s involved in said conversation. Blah blah blah, Tom will feel inadequate when measured up to Dick and Harry if he does not have to lose weight or excercise more or yell at his kids less (for once). At no other time during the year is this party propriety observed or even necessary. Anyway, that’s why I make my resolutions at the middle of the year, and why I only really choose one.

This year’s winner is: More fibre. Okay, not really — though that is something I’m paying attention to now as opposed to when I’m 60 and have to take my embarrasing place in the colonic health parade. No, this year’s real winner is the most banal thing I can really think of to change: my level of physical activity. But because there is facebook and the Wii and the Sims and, good lord, Starcraft is coming out soon isn’t it (ISN’T IT, BLIZZARD?)… well, let’s just say there are too many adequate distractions for a TV-raised – twixter – baby – of – the – 80’s like me. And, while I’ve finally zeroed in on a healthy relationship with food (once, we were lovers whose fire consumed the both of us in masticating maelstrom marathons of epic proportions), I’ve still yet to find the motivation to ‘work it out’ regularly. I usually go through three week periods of too much running around, followed by three weeks of too much sitting around. Couple the former with insomnia and the latter with a fierce love of napping, and you have yourself a classic to – and – fro that most girls have to fight through without armor.

I’m a bi’ of a bon vivant, as it were, and I love food.   I find my metropass gets in the way as well.  It’s much more conveninent, but walking everywhere is how I lost most of the weight in the first place.   I’m curious to see what I can do with this body of mine, rather than just satiate its tastebuds and dope up its liver. I just want more energy, and I don’t want to complain about its lack anymore.



  1. Stop worrying about moving to and fro, cooking, Capital Letters, fibre, new games, resolution quotas, and the stronger quadrants of your corpus collosum, and write a book already. Make sure it has a story, context, and fluidity. Also, stop pressing the space bar twice after periods. It’s annoying.

  2. Did I inspire the attack on capital letters? If you’re cooking really takes off then you’ll be running around enough on the job to stay fit as a whistle. What does that even mean?

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