In the midst of searching around for my work ID, I came across my planner from 2004-2005. In it were such trite things like due dates for papers and presentations, final and midterm dates, random highlighted stars that signified who only know. On November 3, 2004 it says “Best day Ever or Worst day ever”…it ended up being the worst day ever. The 2005 part of my planner starts off with a bang. January 15th, I left for Spain. Mid-February there was a trip to Andalucia and Portugal. Barcelona, Toledo, and Segovia were sprinkled in there as well. Looking at April was the hardest though. For spring break/Easter I went to Mallorca (sorry Majorca). Two weeks later we took an extra special, holy motherfucker-worthy trip to Morocco…there was camels, the desert and camping to boot. Then a weekend jaunt to Malaga and Gibraltar and finally to Salamanca. So as you can see, I busy April indeed.
This April falls somewhere between that time I dropped a bowling ball in my pinky, thus rendering it broken and that time I threw up on the school bus all over myself and my clarinet, in the grand scheme of things that suck hairy balls. I am technically scheduled for a fun filled four day jaunt to Austin, TX. I say technically because due to circumstances beyond my control out in the realm of more things that suck a whole hell of a lot, I may not be making this trek. Now, I’m no doctor or anything, in fact I once failed biology, but the prospect that I may not be able to go has rendered me rather despondent, because people NEED to get away. I had these grandeur dreams of margaritas, delicious food, bars on Sixth street and getting to see the lovely SK. I NEEDED this vacation. I NEEDED to go somewhere that wasn’t on fucking 95 and didn’t involve a coffin. But instead I’m trapped here and I NEED to get the fuck out before my head explodes. And from what I hear, exploding heads and decapitation is not very high up on the meter of fun.
My lugubrious state has also left me cranky and ornery (as seen above) where even going to the gym has turned into a difficult task. Of course that will only last until tomorrow given that I’ve watched the numbers on the scale slowly creep up high enough to scare me back into 3 sets of lunges every other day. I’m bummed and I’m just a tad bit pissed and holy hell I’m being exponentially more whiny than normal. Even Coach and Five Guys won’t make it better (trust me, I’ve tried both. NADA.). But have no fear dear readers because despite being a melancholy ball of blubber, I have been inspired. Though if I tell you all about my future plans that may or may not involve depleting my Orange ING account and losing about 20lbs, then I’d be jinxing myself. And beyond missing out on a fun-fucking-fantastic vacation, jinxing myself is a close second to things that will make me cry, freak out and possibly throw shit. As a former shot put thrower, I can definitely throw things and I doubt you want to see me try.