Took a look at my 2011 Bucket List yesterday to realize I am failing miserably. I AM SHOCKED. I always have real good intentions, and then I realize WHAT THE HELL I HAVE TO READ ATLAS SHRUGGED and totally clam up. For real, have you seen that book? All eleventy-nine-hundred pages of it? It's already taken me 462 years to read The Help, and that book is actually good. [sad pony]
However, I am determined. For example, I bet you one hundred million dollars that I'll accomplish Bikram yoga this weekend. No really. Who wants to bet? (Please?) I've also formed a book club, but refuse to count it as "accomplished" until we have our first official meeting, and also once I actually FINISH The Help.
But still. THINGS NEED TO BE DONE. A dinner party! A scarf. GEOCACHING.
I hate failing at goals. So I shall not. Five months seems like a reasonable amount of time to do this stuff, right? (Yes Krittabug, yes. That is more than enough time). Thank you, my minions.
So I've been training for this 50-miler, right? It's going well. Nothing like waking up before the sun every weekend, both days, to get in long runs before Satan grabs the thermometer, and all hopes of surviving even one mile are shot. I hate summer. I said it. I. SAID. IT. When this race is over, I'm going to sleep in so hard, you don't even know. We're talking, like, 8 a.m. Yeah. It'll be good.
Speaking of, my race is Sept. 17. Did you write that down? OK good. Did you also write down, "Go cheer for Krista. Bring Left Hand Brewery Milk Stout to hand her at the finish line"? OK, good. Good. I'm proud of you.
No really. I will want high fives and hugs at the finish line. My mom won't be there because she thinks I'm going to die, and so you all need to fill her shoes. I mean, her shoes are actually pretty small as she is a small human, but you know. You can join all my best good friends who'll be there. Maybe with bells on. I love them all.
So with that, it's Friday. Carry on with your bad selves.