Dream Your Life Away.

“Don’t you know that it’s only fear? I wouldn’t worry. You have all your life. I’ve heard it takes some time to get it right. I’m wasting all young years. It doesn’t matter if I’m chasing old ideas. It doesn’t matter if…” – London Grammar

May 1st, and I have a lot of work to do. I might, for the first time ever, actually be getting my shit together, but! as we all know, I’m a bit of a gun-jumper. I jump guns. I’m very good at it. Seasoned, and all of that.

A sampling of this “work” includes: writing, writing, writing, writing, writing (and to be honest, I’ve been writing in this blog for so long [we’re coming up on 5 years!] that I don’t know how to write in a different style. Not that I need to; it’s kind of like, “Well, newsflash, Amanda – this is how you write,” and I understand that, it’s all very good and such, but I feel like my paragraphs aren’t exactly fleshed out. They’re like a size 0 and they need to be more like an 8 [so the media can refer to it cutely as “plus size”! teehee, you know?])…

… also deciding whether or not to do the fucking marathon. Technically, I’m signed up, because I deferred last year, and it would be fucking stupid to pay the entry fee AGAIN (already did it! because I thought my dad would get in! and then he didn’t! yay!) and not do it, but I also don’t have the money for the training fees, and the new shoes, and the clothes, and all the things I’d need just so I could go out and dry heave on the pavement for a bit. Part of me wants to, has a bone to pick with myself from the poor showing last year, and part of me is like, “Running. Not your thing. For the love of fucking God, Amanda, just let it NOT BE YOUR THING.”

… but something needs to be my thing. I’ve agreed to do a photoshoot in late August for the new website (and by “agreed” I mean, I called my sister, who runs a photography  studio with her husband in Des Moines, Iowa and was like, “Hey, can you guys take my pictures for me?” and she was like, “In late August, we can.” Super easy and convenient, that was. Check ’em out.) So, yes, if it’s not running, it needs to be swimming or hiking (on the very elevated streets of Chicago), or maybe lots of sauna trips, just melt away those fat globules. I JUST DON’T KNOW.

And then, on top of all of those things, the characters online never cease to be a source of amusement. I feel, weirdly, like I am handing out my phone number left and right (3 guys thus far) and that I am violating some strange privacy rule by doing so. I almost feel the need to change my number now, just to fuck with them. I ended up giving sheet-o-paper my number after he gave me his; we’ve reached the texting stage (he’s slightly better with the texts than with the e-mails) but he DID just compare my love of writing (a side hobby) to Adam Sandler’s character Mr. Deeds and his love of greeting cards. Because. Um. Yes. Exactly.

I’m meeting someone for coffee Monday who is 5’5″. That’s gonna be interesting because I am 5’3″ and I’ve made it an unspoken rule that I don’t usually date people who are close to my height. I’m hoping that he has lied about his height in the opposite way; the way some guys claim to be 6 ft but are really 5’5″.

And then there’s ANOTHER guy whom I had a good conversation with (easy flow, sarcasm abounded, la la la), but I’m not planning the wedding JUST yet, so we can all calm down about that one.

Have a good night, everyone. Be kind to yourselves.

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