So last night, after finishing up a pretty decent thriller/crime book, I went to sleep. Woke up at 4 AM to pee, which was good, because I was having one of those not-really-a-nightmare-but-pretty-damn-disturbing-anyway dreams. Got back in bed, fell asleep, and guess what I dreamt about? I dreamt I had a little toddler.
Yep. I, at 21, had a baby.
Although I don't really think I was 21 - I think I may have been 23 or 24. Reality was skewed, as it normally is, because in my dream, the kid was mine and my ex's (even though that would have been physically impossible). Of course, he didn't want anything to do with it (or I think he didn't. He was absent from my dream, and I acted pretty much like he was dead or not interested in the kid). Anyway, my kid looked freaking adorable! Oddly enough (considering that my ex is black) she was this light caramel color with curly brown hair and green eyes (hmm, did I cheat with a white guy? Maybe that's why my ex didn't want anything to do with the kid. *tee hee hee*)
And we were hanging out with my extended family - and all my aunts were passing her around and practically worshipping the ground she walked on (as usually happens when people in the family have babies). Afterwards, everyone started preparing dinner, and I picked up my kid, took her over to her high chair, and got her ready to eat.
I remember going through the motions of feeding her, and wiping her cheeks when they got messy, and just feeling this amazing, overwhelming happiness - I swear, I don't think I've ever felt that happy in my entire life. It was like my life couldn't possibly get any better, and little things like combing her hair or putting on her shoes just made me feel so satisfied. It's hard to explain, really, this sensation - I don't want to go all anti-feminist on you and say that she was "the pinnacle of my life", "the best I could ever do", "she completed me", etc. Because, yes, I KNOW there are things, great amazing things, to do outside of taking care of your kids. And I plan to do them. But damn, just looking at her little face asking me for more apple juice was freaking amazing, people.
So I woke up and thought to myself, "Gee, my body REALLY want to breed, doesn't it?"
And just watch. 10 years from now I'll have kids. And I'll want to throttle them every single day.
Just made some banana bread. Four bananas per loaf. Just tasted it. That is one MOIST, RICH banana bread. Like so moist and rich that you can only have one tiny slice because it's so freaking moist and rich. Yep, that moist and rich.
So I took him to the vet 2 weeks ago to get drugs for the pug. Today was his checkup visit. I sat waiting for the doctor to come and see him for 40 minutes, people. FORTY MINUTES. Eventually he deigned to drop by, checked him out, he's healthy, cute, yadda yadda yadda, and we marched out the door.
We met a cute pug out in the waiting room, who sniffed Babar's butt. Of course, Babar sniffed his butt right back.
We walk outside the clinic and head towards the car. On the way we see a gigantic German Shepherd and his female owner. The dog spots Babar and starts jumping up and down like he's got a seizure of happiness going on. The lady holds on for dear life while he bucks and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, "NO COMET! THAT'S NOT FLORA! THAT'S NOT FLORA! COMET! THAT'S NOT FLORA! THAT'S ANOTHER PUG, COMET! COMET! STOP COMET!"
Comet just bucked even harder.
I had to giggle. Seriously, lady. I have a feeling Comet doesn't get "human speak".
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a white hair. I, at 21, have a white hair. A. WHITE. HAIR. Do you comprehend what I am saying? I'm saying - I, barely out of my teens, 21 years old - have a white hair. This is absolutely unacceptable. I know some of my family has a tendency to start the salt 'n pepper look early in life, but that doesn't mean I have to start it! I'm a baby, for pete's sake! My hair is still in its childhood! It should NOT be sprouting white hairs!
I first noticed it a couple weeks ago. It was really short, and since I've dyed my hair twice in the past couple months, I thought maybe it was the result of an especially-fried follicle. And it doesn't really LOOK white - it looks silver. VERY silvery. Very shiny, attention-getting, shimmering silver. So I plucked it out and forgot about it. Then today I take a look, and it's started to grow back, and yep, it's still silver. So that must mean that one hair follicle has gone traitorous against its dark brown peers. And that means I'm stuck with a white hair. For good. Now, say it with me, "Nnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I passed all my classes. It would be nice to know all my grades, but unfortunately, my law school professors are notorious for taking up to 3 months to turn in grades. Yes, that long. I've been a bit nervous about it the past couple days, considering that it's my last semester, and if I don't pass some of my classes, I'll have to come back in Fall (which would suck big donkey balls). But you know what? I can go insane worrying about it, but that won't change anything. I won't know for sure until the professors are good and ready to turn in grades, and worrying about it isn't going to make the grades get back any faster. So, I'm trying to chill, enjoy the last couple days of vacation I have, and just put it all at the back of my mind. I'm also going back to boxing classes today for the first time in nearly a week. I know, why that long? Well, first because I was crazy busy with finals, and then my family came over for my graduation and stayed until yesterday afternoon. And considering that all we do when we're together is cook, eat, cook some more, eat, get up and nibble, eat, gossip, nibble again, fall asleep sometime around 4 AM, get up at 11 and eat, nibble, gossip, nibble, nibble.... I've been feeling exhausted and bloated for the past couple days. Yesterday evening I pretty much passed out on the couch and didn't wake up until today. Oh, did I mention that some of my family popped by for a surprise visit? All the way from California? And drove 27 hours nonstop? Because they're crazy? Yep. And of course they came at the most inconvenient, embarrassing time possible. Because that's how I roll. I was cleaning the house Thursday morning before I headed off to the library to finish my paper (I'd been practically living in the library for the past two weeks, and my house had suffered as a result). And of course, I was dressed in rags (because who cleans their house dressed nicely?), hadn't showered all day, hair was poking in every which direction...basically, I was a mess. My front door was open to air out the house, and I was in my room putting away some clothes. Then I hear my pugs barking like mad, and wondering what's going on, I walk outside to the living room. And guess who's standing right there? My two cousins who live in LA. And because I'm am absolutely NOT expecting them to be there, all I can do is stare at them and think, "Geez, these two guys look REALLY familiar! Who ARE they?" Yep. Took my brain a little bit to process the fact that yep, those were my cousins. In Minnesota. In my dirty house. Standing in my dirty kitchen. Looking at me dressed in rags, unshowered, unshaven, and with crappy hair. It was embarrassing, people! I don't know about you, but I like to look nice in front of people, including my extended family. But yeah. So that's the story. And now I'm going to go nap for a little longer. Toodles!
Anyone want to take my finals for me? And write that 30-page paper too? Because I don't W-A-N-N-A. Nope. I'm just going to go home, curl up on the couch, watch a couple episodes of the X-Files, and sleep through the entire exam period. Yes. Because I want to fail and have to come back this Fall semester and spend another $20 thousand on tuition.
If you haven't noticed, I'm a bit stressed out. Yep. Finals will do that to ya. Especially when you've got two classes that you just DO NOT understand, no matter how hard you try. So you pray and pray and pray and pray and beg God to please let you be kidnapped by aliens or get into a terrible car crash that makes your professors grant you an extension for a year to finish up the exams. Unfortunately, I'm still quite healthy, and haven't seen little green men running around either. Darn. So I've resigned myself to studying as hard as I can and if I fail, well, I tried. I REALLY tried. (Yes, I'm THAT stressed. I actually think I might fail a class. Despite the fact that I've done SO much more studying for these classes than I have for others in the past, and yet I still passed those somehow.)
Hate school. H-A-T-E school. It sucks thousands of dollars out of your pockets (or gets you into debt). And then it teases you with failure even though you've tried so hard to "get it". And THEN it reminds you that there are students out there who don't ever go to class, don't read for class, don't study for finals, get to the exam drunk, and STILL pass the damn test with flying colors. That, my friends, is called pure, unadulterated E-V-I-L. They're possessed, I tell ya. Possessed with brains gazillions of times more intelligent than mine. *sniffle* It's sad. Just sad.
On a brighter note, still going to my boxing classes. Still suck ass, but at least now I don't wake up the day after with every muscle in my body screaming, "DO...NOT...MOVE...OR...I...WILL...INFLICT...ENORMOUS...PAIN...ON...YOU." I even doubled up and did two classes on Thursday. I went in on Saturday and my trainer asked me if I was sore - I told him "not really". He laughed and said I obviously didn't work hard enough. I should have rephrased my reply to this: "Yes, I'm sore. Since starting these classes, there isn't a day when I'm NOT sore. But I've reached the point where the pain doesn't stop me from being able to move comfortably, therefore, I come to class."
I noticed something weird, though: before starting boxing classes, my exercise would consist of going to the gym and doing the treadmill, bike, etc. Doing those things would make me sweat and feel exhausted. Now that I'm doing the boxing classes, I'm sweating more than I ever have (it's the exercise, not the temperature, believe me), but I don't feel as tired out as I did at the gym. And I don't think that's because I'm getting an easier workout - I'm substantially sore-er doing boxing than regular gym activity, I sweat a lot more, I use a lot more of my muscles, and my rest breaks are shorter than at the gym. So why is it that I'm not aware of feeling exhausted during my workout? The only reason I can think of is that I'm not bored like I was at the gym. Maybe the boredom heightened my awareness of my exhaustion? Has this ever happened to you? Any ideas? It's just something I've been pondering for a bit. Meh.
Today marks the first day I've gone to class twice in a row. Until now, I've gone one day and taken 2 or more days off. Well, enough so that the enormous pain in my muscles has gone away (mostly). In my defense, this is only my 4th class (or is it 5th?). So I'm still quite the newbie. But today I woke up feeling not-very-sore-at-all, so I went to class this morning. Now, my body is telling me that I'll probably be sore tomorrow (we had the crazy-blonde-trainer-lady today). But that's cool - I managed to go twice in a row! Yipee! So proud of myself. Ha ha ha...
I skipped class today. Why? Because I'm sore. That's why. I feel like someone pounded my stomach and arms and back with a gigantic filled-with-lead basketball. Oh, wait - they did (okay, just my stomach and sides).
But at least my calves are not screaming at me with every movement like they did after the first class. I have a feeling that I'll experience a newer pain in different muscle groups with each class I go to.