Voice Mail Archives

The most important thing I can tell you about bra shopping today is to stay away from department stores.

It's true, you only try them when you are feeling very, very gullible, or insanely dopey and optimistic about the chances of there being a single item of clothing on the second floor of Macy's that you would ever want to put next to your body. Maybe some well-meaning coworker lured you there with wild talk of sales and rebates. Well, sister, I am here to tell you DO NOT GO THERE.

So I told y'all I've been going to the gym, yeah? Like every day, you know, for real.

One thing that a commute is good for -- even a simple little 15-minute commute like mine -- is the chance it gives you to blow off steam by gunning the engine, passing every other stupid car on the road (some days they are all stupid, I am sure you have noticed this), and blasting your favorite cd. With appropriate vocal accompaniment, of course.

I love my streamlined mornings -- my coffee brews automatically while I'm rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and popping some vitamins, I have my clothes laid out and ironed, my lunch is made and in my bag, and my gym bag is ready to go with all of the necessaries for whatever workout is scheduled for that day, but oh my stars that means I am spending HOURS in the evening preparing all of that nonsense.

Ah, my shoulder muscles are sore, and I am so happy. I have finally made it back to swimming laps, back to exercising, back to changing out of a wet bathing suit in front of other people. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is.

I'm teaching a friend of mine how to knit for a role she has in a play that starts in early February. This is a great thing, because I love my friend and I love the play and also I love to knit, but we just had our first lesson and she informed me that her character not only knits, she is an expert knitter. Like, she makes a living by knitting and then selling gloves.

You know what I totally get now? Pearls. I understand now!

I've always been a big fan of naps, but I have a newfound love of them now that I have re-entered the working-outside-the-house world. I perfected my napping when I was in grad school, when I would shut the door to my office and curl up in a big comfy chair that the department had very thoughtfully placed there for me. It only takes about twenty minutes to get my batteries recharged, but woe to those around me if I don't get those twenty minutes!

I am not tired, but I am not not tired either. I am capable of sitting here with my hands folded, thinking quiet thoughts, and I don't feel tired. But if even the thought of moving around and making dinner or doing the dishes occcurs to me I am suddenly and entirely exhausted. I consider this progress.

We just figured out how to use the timer on the coffee maker, so that the coffee beans I ground up this evening will, theoretically, magically transform themselves into life-giving liquid early tomorrow morning. Very. Early. Tomorrow. Morning.