Gah, I hate blogging. Well not so much blogging so much as my own laziness towards blogging. That's pretty ripe. I always think up really good ideas but it's usually on the bus or when I'm in bed and neither of those are particularily convenient times.
I thought of a cute analogy for my romantic life and bear in mind that I'm still on my ne pas de dating trip: the people I date are exactly like my shoes - they're good for a short while and then I ruin them but of course by that time they are far too dear to me and it takes months to finally discard the remains. Anyone who was witness to my Kenneth Cole loafers (R.I.P.) can attest to this. I had to by new insoles for them in Toronto and when I went to take the old insole out, it literally did so in pieces with the last bunch all cruched up in the toe looking like it had been through a garbage disposal. (Maybe we don't rave in the KCs anymore, k?) Sick, I know, but still I loved them and probably won't throw them away until Finnigan (da dog, not da puppet from Mr. Cross-Dress-up) has his rough way with them. "Scuffed shoes are in!" I tell myself, "It said so in GQ!" Yeah, it said that about pre-scuffed Pradas, following in the steps of dirty denim, not David's So-repolished-they-now-look-like-they've-been-Crayola'ed KCs.
Also it occurs to me that one of the reasons behind my somewhat crappy moods as of late have been my dreams. Unlike certain quasi-hippie-hipsters who live on Van Island, I don't put a whole lot of thought into dreams. I'm sure they mean something but chances are that if my subconsiousness is dreaming about it, my consciousness is well aware of the situation. On of the joys of being once described by a close friend as "the most self-aware person I know". I just don't lie to myself. I may not want to think about it, but all the same I know it is there. So I'm not worried about my dreams in that capacity. Rather, I'm more concerned that they've just been rather dark as of late. I never seem to remember my 'happy' dreams, only the macabre or indifferent and I am often dreaming right before I wake up so the mood of my dream will be my first of the day and no bueno.
Lastly (though who knows? I'm kinda on a roll. Mmmm, roll. Did I tell you that I've gone low-carb? Ok, that'll come after this. Don't get freaked out; I haven't gone all south beach or anything), or actually not lastly anymore, I really like my name. Sure, there are other names that I might like a bit more, but that's because they are associated with the individuals attached to them. I find mine very functional; it was nice and playful when I was younger and will be nice and dignified when I'm older. Ok, agreed, that was one of my more vapid thoughts.
Yes, so the low carb thing, it started like this. I was trying on an outfit that I might wear to the New Years party and it looked good but not quite perfect. There was ever so slight of a curve just below my belly button and it was pissing me off. Then I did the standard "Well if you ate better and excercised" speech in my head which was promtly refused as usual, but then I took a moment to disect why I had rejected that notion. Not a complex answer: it's too hard. And it is, to say that one is going to alter one's lifestyle FOREVER. That's a huge commitment. So I says to m'self, I says, "Self, just try it for a month, just until outfit needs to be worn and see if anything changes. Nothing crazy, just limiting sugar and carbs and try a lot of protein and veggies. And here's the craziest part: try only eating when you're hungry and stopping when you're full." So that's the deal, my inverse NY resolution; to eat like we're supposed to. I'm a little over a week in and it's not been half bad so far.
Ok, so that's quite a bit. I can stop feeling guilty for a while now.