The sunset was beautiful last night; why it always surprises me with its splendor I'll never know. Maybe this is the last remaining part of me that's remained untouched by cynicism and serious adulthood. Dear Sky, I am in love with you. Readers: prepare yourselves for a lot more of these glorious, watery landscapes. I can't help but try to keep them (and then, of course, to share).
My car drove me to the beach directly after work, though I was hungry and still in my dress shoes. Maybe my car knows me better than I do, or maybe I heard something in the ocean call my name and I felt obligated to go see who or what it was. Feet wet? Hands numbing? Meh. There's not a lot I wouldn't put up with for a one-on-one date with the ocean.
I didn't end up with a dinner date yesterday (unless you count the seagulls and the sun and my pre-dinner romp by the water); in fact, in my desperate attempt to A) not cook anything and B) not spend money, I stayed home by myself and ate freshly popped, generously buttered popcorn for dinner (don't worry Mom, I ate a toasted cheese and leafy green sandwich at bedtime to make up for it). Originally, the plan was to squeeze another run into my week, but by the time I got home it was raining and dark, so I opted to cozy up indoors instead and watch the graying sky from inside my apartment; with my thoughts and future plans beside me, and my list of "must accomplish...someday...eventually"'s on my forearm as per usual.
The popcorn was excellent, Chandler was hilarious as always, and eventually, I started moving again; down the hall to my bedroom, where the majority of my faults are hiding. If you know me by now, you know that my weakness usually shows up in the form of empty hangers, clothes on furniture, and papers in boxes. Sigh. I have a habit of rooming with Supernaturally Organized and Efficient Ladies, too, which only stands to illuminate my mad retreat to chaos. Task one: ignore neighboring Domesticity. Task two: play music to drown out any residual inner nagging. Task three: compliment self.
The best part of my week, in pertinence to my room, happened the night before last, when a friend came over, rolled up her sleeves, and helped me start. I didn't get to the paper boxes last night, but after the help-reprieve on Wednesday and my night of tunes & solitude, I managed to move my bed three feet to the right. Which for some odd reason, made the weight on my chest feel lighter. I organized my bedside table. I hung a picture on my wall. I started a dream journal. I ate my cheese sandwich. I thought about my secret crush (not the dentist), and the news that he might call. I sat on my bed, three feet to the right, and felt happy.