nguyenguyen

Yesterday's treadmill session was the longest yet and incredibly boring, even with A Court of Fey and Flowers distracting me. I ended up with the beginning of a blister and no willpower left to resist the prospect of samosas and saag paneer at the Indian restaurant down the block, but honestly $45 for three meals is pretty reasonable.

And then I was awake from 4:30 to 6:30 and am not happy about it. But I made decent hash with fried eggs for breakfast and put the cast iron re-seasoning in the oven alongside a packet of garlic, and made a small pot of cranberry applesauce with red wine on the stove, and sent the robovac trundling around my bedroom, so I rescued my Sunday from a pretty dismal start.

Yet again I have to go to campus more than once this week, and this can only end badly.

I bravely confronted the treadmill at the gym and am pleased to report that I was overly cautious about both the speed and incline settings (I am 100% terrified of faceplanting when I use a treadmill), so next time I will push both a little bit, as well as sticking to the slightly higher resistance on the erg. Half-marathon walking, here I come! (I do not give a single fuck about running a marathon, half or otherwise, but I have a planned trip that will mean a lot of walking on a lot of hills on successive days, and I would like not to die while doing so.)

Having some fuckin' feelings about this week's Life is a Sacred Text and my birthday and the choices I've made in my life and the consequences of those choices. And having some bonus feelings about velveteenrabbi_feed's True North and Sarah Kendzior's essay from November 2016 and my (access-locked) response back then. Of course, I am also having a lot of much less complicated feelings about the various elections results (Schadenfreude and sincere pleasure in an outcome? Put that chocolate in my orange marmalade!), and that is a great way to start the day.

There is a new Dessa EP and of course I love both tracks and am hoping for the annual Doomtree site sale in December so I can throw money at every CD they have in stock. The Brother Cadfael mysteries are excellent bath reading in between Aubreyad novels, although the identical teenage heterosexual romances begin to grate after a few; I finished Sharon Shinn's Twelve Houses series, which was largely enjoyable, and am going to embark on Helen Dewitt's The Last Samurai, having discovered it has no relationship to the 2003 movie, directed by Edward Zwick. (I cannot recommend Dewitt's The English Understand Wool highly enough. It is exquisite.)