I arrived to work at 9am and everyone was standing outside. It was a false alarm of the building’s security system, not a fire drill as we thought. Other people took pictures on Instagram, but I couldn’t be bothered. You’ve seen groups of people standing in the glaring morning sunlight in an alley. It went on from there.
The day felt like a giant false start: coming back from a sick day and getting caught up. Sporadic sneezing, still sniffling and tons o’ tea. I’m better, but not best yet.
Despite highlights of a delicious lunch with a lovely lady from HelloLucky and a successful code release to the stage environment, I still feel like it was a day of running in place.
Something that would typically make me happy (booking a trip for a conference) has me a bit deflated. It ends on my birthday, and I really don’t want to wake up in Vegas on the day I turn 40. Alas.
Also, I was eating dinner solo so I grabbed takeout from the nearby vegan place has a lemongrass broth veggie noodle bucket. It seemed like a good idea, but it was just meh. So much so that I added soft-cooked eggs and sriatcha. Still unremarkable. Pardon the whining. I fully understand that things could be a lot worse.
Now, bed beckons. Perhaps tomorrow will see a breakthrough or at least a lifting of this cold’s dulling fog? It would be nice to go out for a run too. A little shake-me-up-before-you-go-go?
Somethingm153;anything™to be a little kick in the pants.
Only last week I was thinking to myself that I hadn’t been sick this year. In Januarys past, I remember learning how to make dashi for noodles and souping myself to health. Seeing colleagues fall ill one by one as the week went on, I was grateful and a little proud of my system’s fortitude.
We’ve all know where this is headed, right? What started as slight congestion and an early-morning offness has bloomed into full-blown snottiness. Early application of my neti pot yesterday did not prevent today from descending into a deluge of tissues and sneezing at my desk. On the plus side, I’ve tried my hand at mixing my own sea salt and baking soda solution. However, here I am sick. And, as often is the case, it rougher now, as the day ends. Luckily, it’s mostly congestion and I’m not incapacitated; simply a little worn down.
Watching The Deadliest Catch isn’t helping me feel any better. (You can’t catch a cold from the TV, can you?) Maybe I should just get in bed and read. I know two snore monsters who’d be more than willing to keep me company and warm. Dry and on land with loved ones.
Thwarted by phone typing. I lost a better version of this post. Thank you for the nice comments yesterday. And I apologize for not making time to properly compose thoughts and do my typing on a keyboard. It was lovely to hear from Scotland, Quebec and B.C. I’d better up my game, eh?
I have to head to bed, so I can’t recreate everything I had previously written. Instead, I’ll leave you with an article I’ll be chewing on for many day to come:
There’s More to Life than Being Happy from The Atlantic.
I’m no hedonist, by any means. I want to focus on being content with what I have, not necessarily more happy. And mindfulness is something I’m trying to cultivate. Searching for a higher meaning or calling wasn’t on my agenda. I’ve simply wanted to cut down on my own negative self-talk and irrational sense of failure. Now I’ve got to find some other reason to live? Oh, the pressure.
A month ago, I posted on 12.12.12. Nothing much, but just a little scribble to mark the unique date and rouse the dusty bloggish beast. But that started a little avalanche of daily posts. 31 since then.
I don’t pretend that it’s even worthy of being called writing. Heck, there’s not really much content, so it isn’t as if I’m writing for a reader (besides my mom, Hi!). Just a daily practice. There’s no streak I’m seeking or NaNoBloMo that I’m trying to win. It’s simple proof to myself that I can no longer say I never post. A reminder to myself that I’m not a failure.
Much like knitting or making bread or running, a lot of smaller tasks pile up to make a whole that’s better than before. Something is better than nothing. Little by little, I’m getting there.
I don’t really have much to say. Better yet, I don’t want to say much. I’m typing on my phone and it’s a bit tedious to correct typos. I don’t think the same way using my thumbs, as opposed to proper typing.
Sure, I could get off the couch and walk across the room to a keyboard and compose my thoughts. Or myself. But I’m tired. It’s bed time and it’s been a long day. And I’m full of delicious Ethiopian food, and there aren’t any kind of deep thoughts coming out tonight.
Heck, I don’t even have a picture. So I can’t prove I was at Aday’s bday with Cookie A among other friends (her name for the rhyming scheme). We skipped the dancing part of the evening and had ice cream on the way to drop Sonya home.
So that’s Friday night in the big gay city. Sleep tight.
Yesterday: no run in the morning = grumpy day.
Today: run up and down the same hill 4 times, plus a longer climb for good measure = chipper day
Lesson learned: skipping the scamper may result in the day going downhill (not in the good way). Life’s ups and downs can be best faced with more practice ups and downs.
(And I thought I hated hill training.)
It has begun.
LoWo will be making us a sandwich once a month for the entire year. I bring the bread.
January was goat cheese, microgreens, wavy cukes and red onions soaked in red wine vinegar (per Martha). Served on sesame country loaf (per Tartine).
There’s talk of monthly sandwich intentions to carry us from sando to sando. These aren’t meant to be big resolutions, just a little something to carry for the next four weeks or so.
What’s mine? You’re looking at it. (Or reading it.)
For some background, see my first sandwich reeducation post.