Posted by M on Jul 18, 2011 in
Mommy Skills As I’ve referenced earlier, I’ve been spending this summer working on some of my lifelong goals. One of those finicky little bastards was cooking. Baking has never been an issue for me, but cooking isn’t something I’ve ever really taken too. For a long time, I thought it was like softball: I didn’t like it because I sucked at it. But, it turns out I’m not actually shitty at it. In fact, in an surprise twist, I’m actually good enough to not kill anyone. And I like it, which is even better, because it calms me down and it’s relaxing, which is wesome because I’m really high strung. It’s also productive, which is good. I hate hobbies that you put all of this work into it, and what do you have to show for it? Kind of like golf.
The only thing golf gives me is a headache and a sunburn.
Anyways, I can make a lot of stuff, because anyone that can read can make a lot of stuff. But, I’ve noticed that mothers always seem to have a schedule, like they make this dish on this day for whatever reason. So I’ve made sure I can make five dishes that I reallllllly love and that are also kid friendly, so someday when I have kids, I can feed them. I hear that’s key. I guess some people would claim that you shouldn’t feed your kids the same five meals a week, but I don’t have kids, so I’m not going to argue with them. EXCEPT to say that my parents did it and my brother goes to Harvard. So, we win. Here’s to you, Pizza Thursday!
I’ll publish a receipe each day this week, as well as some of my favorite disserts and explanations as to why I chose that day. Even if you don’t have kids, learning how to make super duper easy and yummy meals is important so that you can eat. Eating makes me happy anyways. But I’m also secretly an obese person just dying to make an apperance.
Fiesta Monday: Black Bean Chicken Salsa
I decided to make Monday a fiesta! because everyone hates Monday. This way, at least you can come home from work, have a shot of tequila, and not have to work about operating a hot oven. Crockpots are king, yo. In fact, in my singledom, I would happily make this on Monday and eat it all week. But, I plan on, in the long future, making it on Monday and then taking the leftovers for work the next day. Yummy and delicious!
Ingredients:
-1 jar black bean and corn organic salsa
-1 jar organic mild salsa
-1 can black beans
-2 lbs chicken breast, cut up, fat trimmed
Directions:
In the morning: Open jars, dump into crock pot. Dump in chicken. Stir once. Put on low.
In the evening: Come home and eat.
fiesta in my mouth!
I reckon (apparently I’m Southern today) the calories to be around 150/cup, after comparing online recipes, but I also don’t use tortillas for myself. With kids, I’d use the lower calorie tortillas (you can get 50 calories/whole grain tortilla in the Asian section of grocery stores) since they can use the extra carbs to go outside, play tag, and let me drink my Skinnygirl Margarita in peace.
For Dessert:
I think I’m going to be one of those moms who don’t give their kids dessert until way after dinner, which is what my mommy did for me. She gave us “bedtime snacks” and at 22, I still ask my boyfriend to take me to QD at midnight because I need a bedtime snack. I’m sure a lot of peole argue that eating at night is bad, but since none of the people who make that argument have degrees in nutrition, I’m going to ignore them and say make it! Eat at night! And on Mondays, make this:
I am delicious, why yes I am
This is a recipe adapted from Skinnytaste.com, one of my favorite healthy and low-cal websites. I’d totally recommend you waste some time on her site. Everything is easy, healthy, and the pictures are this foodie’s version of porn. I chose this particular treat for Monday because I’m a weekend shopper and I didn’t want my berries to go bad before I got to impress everyone with this easy and yummerific treat!
Ingredients:
For the filling:
-4.5 cups of your favorite berries. Divide evenly (1.5 each) or play favorites. This isn’t Playgroup, no one’s judging you if you like a berry more than another. Frozen works too. Whateve.
-1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
-1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
-2 teaspoons cornstarch
-1/4 cup sugar
For the topping:
-1 cup natural oats. I used Meijer. You can use whatever is cheap.
-1/2 cup whoe wheat flour
-3/4 teaspoon cinnamon
-half a stick of butter
Directions:
-preheat oven to 375
-Combine all filling ingredients except cornstarch in bowl. Mix them up and then toss with cornstarch. Put in pie bowl.
-Mix topping ingredients and sprinkle over pie.
-Bake for 35-40 minutes.
The original recipie, including calorie and weigh watchers info, can be found here:
http://www.skinnytaste.com/search/label/Dessert%20Recipes
If you have kids, I’ll probably serve this with ice cream, since not all kids (including this 22 year old kid) love berries.
Posted by M on Jul 18, 2011 in
Mommy Skills With the exception of a few months here and there, my freezer through college mostly looked like this:
See, when your diet consists of mostly Lean Cuisines and tequila shots, you learn how to exisit on sodium fumes and overly processed chicken. But my parents are organic health wackos and I have aspirations of giving birth to healthy children someday–and I don’t think setting the table with Smart Ones Angel Hair Pasta is really something the Mom from Leave It to Beaver would do.
Anywho, I have the summer off work (I’m moving to LA in August), so I figured I might as well learn how to cook. My boyfriend’s mom is an amazing Italian cook and my own mother is one of the best bakers around, so I was a little (read:majorly) intimated to walk into a kitchen when I didn’t even know the difference between convection oven and a regular oven. But in a weirdo swing of events, it turns out I’m not too shitty at it. Much to the surprise of just about everyone, I might add. As the frequently mentioned boyfriend told me, “You were never bad…you’re just a lot better than I thought you’d be.”
Anywho, this week I’ll be sharing a few recipies I’ve picked up along the way. Enjoy!
Posted by M on Jul 18, 2011 in
No One Cares,
Random A recent email advertisement I received:
Posted by M on Jul 15, 2011 in
My Daily Show,
No One Cares I went to see Horrible Bosses last night. On the way over, I say to my boyfriend, “Oh no! Harry Potter comes out tonight!” He knows I have issues with Pottermania. I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the notion of waiting for 12 plus hours to see Daniel Radcliff use his wand. And wand isn’t a sexual inuendo there, he’s using a magical wand, and not his dick, which, ironically, can be seen on broadway. I don’t understand why these kids don’t just wait until the next day to see the movie? And also, you’re all pretty young, most of of you under 16, seeing as the parking lot is mostly empty, meaning your parents dropped you off. So now we have a group of unsupervised, cape-wearing pre-teens? And many are girls. With their high pitched voices. Kill me.
But our movie was early, boyfriend reminded me. An 8:45-er. We’re saved, right? WRONG. The view as we pull in:
And inside:
and on our way out:
Note the news truck. Apparently, this is news. Clearly, Rupert Murdoch really did need to voicemail hack in order to compete with this.
As we paid for our movie, I asked the ticket-seller how his night was going. He looked around and muttered “I hate these fucking people.”
My thoughts exactly.
Posted by M on Jul 15, 2011 in
How to Be a Grown Up,
My Daily Show I recently told a friend that I was feeling very stressed out. So stressed, in fact, that I was losing sleep. To counteract my bout of insomnia, I’ve taken to watching TV as late as possible, turning it off only when my eyes are about to close. Otherwise, my brain pulls into overdrive and I have to eat ice cream to slow it down, which would be fine except that I am allergic.
Anywho, his response to my struggles with the night?
“Have you considered buying a noise CD, like with noises of the ocean and stuff?”
“No, I have not,” I replied, in bewilderment. I thought maybe he would want to talk about my stress, but okay…noise CD. That’s going to be his approach. You know, I, being female, probably would have gone somewhere else, but it’s a creative approach, I’ll give him that. I decided to see how far we could go with it.
“You know,” I said, “I just don’t think I could fall asleep to a noise CD. It just sounds like static to my untrained ear.”
“Haven’t you ever fallen asleep on a beach?” he responds, not to be thrown off.
“Well, yes,” I recede. “But it’s just so loud on a recording. Not very soothing. It sounds so automated.”
He’s silent for a moment, as he considers this. Then, he comes out with his big winner:
“Jungle CDs! They make jungle CDs too!”
Thank you. That’s very…thoughtful. I’m sure listening to monkeys yelp their mating call will really lure me into a soft and nurturing nap.
Later, I texted my friends, one of which runs a website called ShitMyBoyfriendSays. The other, my best friend from college, recently single after a year and a half relationship, texts me back instantly. I can almost here her sighing from her cubicle as she types into her iphone:
Of course, I would never really beat him. 1. Because I just got my nails done and 2. Because being like Chris Brown is soooo 2005. And also because I love him. But I love her response too.
Talking to a male friend later, I recount the same troubles.
“I can’t sleep!” I cry. “My brain is like Fox News whenever there’s an election: overanlyazing incorrect facts for hours!”
I see him typing on facebook chat for a few moments before his response comes:
“Have you tried like, a wave CD? Or white noise?”
Eff it.
Posted by M on Jul 14, 2011 in
No One Cares,
Random Ladies and Gentlement, I present to you…the hard reporting of American Journalism:
Look, not all of us can save the world, you know? Some of us are born merely to report the fashion repeat choices of royalty.
I read somewhere that the British aren’t nearly as obsessed with royalty as Americans. Which makes sense, as Americans tend to want what they don’t have. Of course, we were at one point owned by the British royalty, so we kind of effed up our chances of having royalty by giving them the heave-ho with the whole American Revolution. Of course, the British could really criticize our journalism technqiues since their newspaper, News of the World, is you know, hacking voicemails and medical records illegally.
I’d write more, but I need to go for a run. I read the article below on CNN this morning and I’m hoping to audition! Not.
Le sigh.
Posted by M on Jul 13, 2011 in
Big Annoucements Okie dokie, my little pickled lovers.
As a stay at home daughter, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands this summer. I have become QUITE the cook, as exhibited by my awesomeness below:
Lean Cusines, no more!
However, I’ve also read a lot of blogs. Which has put me on a pretty giant guilt trip, considering I am a negligent blogger myself. However, I promise to be a good girl and blog almost regularly, however, I’m not going to do it the same way as before, where I picked a topic and just rambled on until I felt my mother would be appeased. Instead, I’m going to write what I feel like, post pictures, give you some fabulous links, and generally make you giggle. And I might offend you. Because I have a potty mouth like a sailor binge drinking Trader Joe’s Two Buck Chuck and in addition, I tend to find myself hilarious and the more offensive something is, the more hilarious it is to me.
I leave you with this link. If you do not giggle at this, you might just want to delete my blog from your google reader because we just are not on the same level:
http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/
Okiethat’sit.
Posted by M on May 6, 2011 in
My Current Life A Tale of Two Maggies:
What Happens when 18 year old U-M Student Maggie meets 22 year old MSU Grad Maggie
The Characters:
Meet akwardly skinny, young Maggie. She’s 18 1/2. She’s not happy to be at the University of Michigan. She has a plan for the next five years. It’s pretty ambitious. It does not include fun Fun? She’ll have fun when she’s dead.
Meet 22 year old Maggie. She is not excited to be graduating. She’s not thinking about the next five years because in five years, she’ll be 27, and that’s OLD. She’d rather be dead than old.
The setting: Frazzled looking 18 year old Maggie is walking across campus when she runs into 22 year old Maggie in her green graduation gown. AND SCENE:
(18 year old Maggie is walking with her head down, face stuffed into her notes for her Introduction to Comparative Poetry class. It’s slightly windy out, so she may blow away due to her awkwardly skinny frame if she’s not careful. She then bumps stumbles over a loose brick in the sidewalk (typical Flood), and bumps completely into 22 year old Maggie):
18 Years Maggie(18M): Whoa! Whoa! Sorry! Shit! My notes are everywhere!
22 Years Maggie (22M): Eh, they’re poetry notes. Not like anyone really gives a crap about poetry. Oh hey! You’re 18 year old Maggie right? Nice to meet you (sticks out pale hand). I’m 22 year old Maggie. How’s it going?
18M: (clutches equally pale hand (somethings never change) for a firm handshake). I’m good. It’s finals week freshman year, so I’m pretty swamped and stuff. Uhh, you’re 22, right? Why are you wearing a green gown? According to our five year plan, you should be finishing up your first year of Law School. I’m not sitting through bullshit poetry classes so you can parade your ass around in a green graduation gown just for kicks. Jesus, get a hobby. Or go to the library and study. You should be studying.
22M: (backs away, worried about 18M’s reaction) Uh, yeah, Maggie. About that. We didn’t really (puts hands into quotation marks) “follow the plan.” The plan was, well, boring.
18M: (visually annoyed. Points to a bench and the two sit down) Um, okay. Well, this is a shock. So, explain the green gown. You should be graduating from Michigan, at least, even if we veered off track.
22M: uhhh…about that. Yeah, we didn’t go that route either. Go State?
18M: Seriously…a state girl? Pathetic, Maggie. David’s on Wallstreet selling stocks and you’re what, pre-law at State? This might ruin our law school plans.
22M:Uhh, yeah. We aren’t going to law school. Sorry, kid. And David’s in med school.
18M: Jesus. I laid out a very specific plan for you for the next five years. You can’t even follow simple directions? God. I’m not surprised you go to State. You obviously can’t even READ well enough to follow a very complex, extremely ambitious, dry, and extremely non-fun plan for success.
22M: You know, you’re kind of a bitch sometimes. You should really lighten up.
18M: (exhales very long, deep breath). Okay. So career-wise, a little off track. Let’s talk personal goals. You always wanted to get married the summer after Under-grad. How’s that looking?
22M: (stifles a nervous giggle) That’s just not even in the new five year plan you’re going to go home and make tonight. But, I ran a half marathon. You always wanted to do that, right?
18M: Oh, that’s real great. I guess 1 of 450 goals isn’t too shitty. How’s high school boyfriend?
22M: God, I am like your dream crusher huh? That didn’t work out. Sorry. But, don’t give me that face. It’s not like you’re an old maid. And besides, you still have some of the same high school friends. And you made a lot of new friends. You’re fun, I promise. You turned out okay. I’m okay.
18M: You’re killing me. Really. At least we turned out kind of pretty. I’m glad to see you finally started crawling out of the awkward phase. 5-18 was a rough patch (the two high five) Did we do anything productive AT ALL in the past three years?
22M: Hmm, things you’d be surprised about? I went to Italy. And took a lot of Math classes. I got an A in calc! I want to be a yoga teacher someday. I like to run. I eat frozen yogurt with my boyfriend when I don’t want to study. I’m involved in Greek Life. I did okay, really. You gotta relax, kid. And have you eaten this month? You look really skinny. Your ass is actually flatter than your chest.
18M: I DON’T HAVE TIME TO EAT! I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING US INTO LAW SCHOOL.
22M: Eh, relax. We turn out okay. You’re moving to California. I can’t really speak for the Maggie’s older than us, but the next few years go really well for you. This is the bad part of your college experience. It only gets better. I mean, not that it could really get worse. I think your face may be stuck in a constant state of worry.
18M: Ohhh, good to see we don’t lose that nice wit. Well, whatever. Have you seen 30 year old Maggie? I have a few questions for her.
22M: Yeah, me too. She hasn’t shown up yet. I hope we age well.
18M: I mean, we don’t tan. At least we won’t get wrinkles. I think I’m going to go get some Shrimp and steak for dinner and then head to the library. Wanna come?
22M: Uh, sorry girl. You’re allergic to shrimp. Surprise! And you don’t eat meat anymore. Rough break. And you feel like the library stifles creativity. So you study in your bed, which is convenient for when you want to take a nap.
18M: You know what? I’m going to head out, but you stay here. You seem happy. I’m going to go suffer in the library. Congratulations on graduating. There’s a sight I thought we’d never see.
22M: Take care of yourself, Mags. The next three years go quick. And seriously, brush your hair. Curly hair does not have to mean frizzy hair .
(fades to black)
Posted by M on Apr 21, 2011 in
Deep Thoughts It’s an interesting feeling, being 22 and in airport going to see your brother.
I’m graduating college in two weeks and I’m in Maryland, sitting on a sticky vinyl seat, waiting to board a connecting flight to Boston Logan. I took the 6 am flight this morning because it was cheaper and would let me see my big bro for an entire Thursday instead of flying in late. Of course, my thrify ass refused to leave from Lansing, so I anticipated waking up and driving to Grand Rapids at 3:45. Apparently driving over an hour in the middle of the night didn’t set well with my parents so as usual, my dad bailed me and got me a hotel room.
The Comfort Inn, a shithole stacked next to a Kia Dealership, has a park and go package. That is probably the only reason people stay there: so they can go the next morning. I told my friend James on facebook chat last night that if I died, it was probably the dark haired guy two rooms over who spent the majority of the night walking his 10 pound chubby yorkie up and down the hallway. Unlike my father’s adoration of my reasonably sized and healthy yorkie, the gentlemen reaked of creepiness.
I haven’t lived in the same house with my brother in over six years. In fact, I can’t remember when we last spent the night together, just the two of us. He lives in Boston and goes to Hahhhvard, a little factoid I like to drop on my boyfriend’s more pretentious friends. Which probably does not bring them down but instead makes them think that I’m pretentious. That is a little ironic considering David is the least pretentious person I know. He’s brave and he’s got a good heart and he’s a genuinely good person. Actually, the most pretentious thing about him is when you talk to him for too long, you start to feel a little guilty. Like, he doesn’t just think that it’s bad that we overfish our waters to feed humans. He thinks it’s really bad. So bad that he doesn’t eat fish. Well…I think it’s bad too. Which I say as I order the salmon from just about every restaurant I go to.
I’ve been doing this Yoga thing for a little while now and every session begins and ends with a motivational speech. Frankly, I think it should begin and end with “Good for you, fatty McCollege student. You came here before you walked two doors down to get loaded off Long Islands and French fries.” But I’m not the teacher, so I guess I’m not really allowed to make suggestions. Anyways, the teacher started a class off once where she said every person has a lesson to teach. So when you meet someone, pay attention. For some of my more rique friends, the lesson seems to be “don’t be like me.” But for my older brother, it seems to be, “Put yo’ money where yo’ mouth is.” Practice what you preach. If you want to change the world, start changing it. And you won’t change much by chugging long islands, no matter how delicious they are when combined with the exact correct proportions of French fries and ketchup.
The only thing I’ve ever wanted to be in my entire life is a mother. I remember when I was six or seven, I whined for weeks to Santa Claus about how much I wanted a water baby. For those of you who didn’t have whiny little girls in the early 90s, a water baby is basically a rubber doll filled with water. Creative name right? I’d like to be in on that meeting. I’m sure the genius behin that really had on his thinking cap that day.
In hindsight, I have no idea why I wanted one. I’m guessing they had a really cool commercial and that Amanda Zimm this girl in Preschool that I wanted to be just like, had one. They were scares, but my mom is like a Christmas Angel. The woman can track down any gift for anyone. Ask her someday about the great Xbox Hunt of 2006. It’ll rock your world. Anyways, I wanted a water baby and because my parents love me and because I was the most well-behaved child EVER, Santa brought me one. And brought my little brother one. Jake and I, back in the day, were more like twins that siblings. We did everything together. In fact, even today, I swear sometimes my stomach hurts when his hurts and I won’t find out until weeks later that he was sick. Or sometimes I’ll burst into tears and not realize why until my Mom calls and tells me Jake had a rough day. My boyfriend often tells me that it’s like Jake has me in a trance, like no matter what he does, I’ll excuse him and smile because I love him too much to see anything wrong with him.
Right. Water babies. So, Santa brings me a water baby. Except Toys R Us was out of Water Babies and so therefore, my parents got us African American ones. This was before doing stuff like this to teach your kids diversity was such a cool thing. But, I named her Chelsea and I carried her everywhere. I used my flat chest (not much has changed in that department) to breast feed her, I refilled her water through a hole in her back, and I asked Amanda Zimm if I looked like my daughter. She assured me she could see the resemblence in her tribal features and my Swedish pale skin. Years later, when I went to pack up my dolls and collectables to figure out which ones to keep and which ones to donate to charity, I wrapped her up so carefully because even at 14, I still cared for this rubbery little girl.
I didn’t exactly pick my major because I love Human Resources. I picked my major because it was practical and if you don’t know what you want to do, it’s best to be practical. I stuck with it because it turned out, things like Math are actually easy for me and therefore, a degree in business wasn’t out of reach. A big shout out to my public school’s math department, which once labeled me slow: My 3.8 college math GPA would like to tell you to suck it. You can’t major in motherhood, although frankly, a mom training would probably benefit a lot of mamas out there.
So, someday, I’d like to be a mom. Not today, because well, you have to get knocked up for that, and the potential sperm donors at the Baltimore Airport aren’t exactly prime material this morning. But, someday. Except the closer I get to “someday,” the more freaked out I get. Have you people looked around? How to children even survive these days?! I don’t even know how I make it through the day. And how did my parents even do it? I look back over some of the stuff I did and I don’t know I’m even alive…and I was a good kid!
But I guess that’s the point of practicing what you preach. If you want to do something, you do it despite the risks. So someday, I’ll be a mom and David will still probably not be eating fish. And we’ll seem like we’re worlds apart, but really, we’ll be accomplishing the same goals, just on different scales. And even when we’re old, our parents will probably still be bailing us out.
Posted by M on Jul 25, 2010 in
Savvy Travels In a lot of ways, this has been the least stressful summer of my entire life. I wasn’t a big fan of high school. My brothers were really popular, but I was mostly really awkward, and slightly frizzy. I worked every summer from freshman year onwards, and if I wasn’t at work, I was shipped off to sports camps, church camps, academic camps, or educational vacations with the family. Years later, I still get jokes about how while my friends were in Panama City, I once spent 10 days hiking in Wyoming.
After graduation, I spent my first summer nerviously biting my fingernails, freaking out about attending college. I recieved a lot of shoulder rubs and pep talks about how everything would be fine. When it wasn’t fine, I spent my second summer nerviously biting my fingernails hoping a new school would be the answer to my qualms. That was more stressful than before because MSU was my plan B. I now had the added anxiety that there was no Plan C. Last summer, I took Calculas, which frankly was annoying enough to ruin my entire summer, and then I got to go to Rome. Which was amazing, but being half way across the world without a single friend taking classes? Stressful.
This summer, in comparison, has been a breeze. No, I don’t enjoy being 10 hours from home and yes, I would really like some quality Maggie + friends + family + boyfriend time, but my actual day to day life? So completely stress free.
I wake up in the morning and I go to work. My hours are flexed, so I manage to get there before everyone else so I have at least an hour of quiet before the world stomps in. I do some work, I do some online shopping, I have meetings where my only job is to sit there and be quiet. I live in a family where I rarely get a word in without raising my hand at the dinner table…I mastered how to sit there and be quiet when I was ten. I have lunch at my desk while reading weddingbee.com (I need to be prepared and up to date on my etiquette for when everyone in the world but me gets married), and then I attend more meetings in the afternoon. Occasionally, I peruse the hall and smile. They expect very little of me. In fact, I think they expect more from the janitorial services that are responsible for emptying their trash cans every night than they expect of me. I’ve gotten into binds before and I rely on my giggle to get me out of them. I’m lucky I look like I’m 15. Corporate America has very little standards for its 15 year old workers. Don’t get me wrong, I do work–but my work does not pay any bills, does not cause stress, and when I leave at 4 pm, I leave my work there.
At home, I am responsible for getting myself, and only myself dinner. Then I work out. Then I watch TV. Then I go to bed. In a nutshell, that’s my life. It’s completely boring. If this was my real life, I’d be dead in six months and literally, the guy responsible for declaring a cause of death would be like, “well, it looks like her brain just got really bored and forgot to remind her heart to beat, so she died.”
I have 3 of 11 weeks left of this schedule. Then, it’ll never be like this again. I can say with full certainty, this will be it for me. Next summer, I’ll either be working a full time job (where my duties do not include staying updated on the most recent articles detailing Lindsay Lohan’s jail sentence), getting ready for grad school (biting my fingernails), or getting ready for some other weirdo occupation that only a Flood Family member could pull off.
As stress free as this summer has been–and seriously, I took my pulse the other day and it was 56 beats a minute, I’m so stress free even my heartbeat is slowing down–I’m ready to go home. I made a mental checklist of all the things I should do before I “settle down” and put “down roots,” and I made sure to put “move some place I don’t know anyone,” and now that I’ve done that, I’d like to be able to check off “move some place where I do know people.” I’m ready to start spending my life with the people I love in a city I live. Alas, Minneapolis does not meet either of those requirements.
See, stress just means you have something you care about on the line. I’m stress free here because I don’t care. I don’t care if I don’t make friends–because I don’t plan on staying around. I don’t care if my job is horrible, because I haven’t accepted that I’m going to need a job soon. The biggest stresser I have is the half marathon I’m running in two weeks and that’s because that’s a life-long goal of mine. I care so much about that, I plan my entire schedule around the training regiment.
But back in East Lansing, I’ll be stressed again. I won’t have time to train…because I’ll have things to do. Friends to see, family to see, a cottage to nap in, clubs to run, and a yoga class to take with my best friend.
I guess my pulse is going to raise again. But that’s probably a good thing. I guess if your pulse isn’t racing, you’re not really living.