On Friday night, I sat down to read a few pages of the 5th Mortal Instruments book and got sucked into the Clary/Jace drama. Humans were dead to me for approximately three hours, both in the literary sense and quite literally. I was not to be bothered for anything less than a near-death experience. Shadowhunters owned my existence.
Then, I start laughing hysterically into my book at the snark that is Jace Wayland and I'd read the line to my boyfriend, expecting him to crack up with me, except he didn't.
My goal for the month was to write 20,000 words, which is 5K per week. On Friday night, I was only one thousand in, and could think of nothing to write. Like nothing. I was uninspired, and it was driving me crazy. Eventually, I thought "maybe I should kill off a character or two".
Then I thought better of it and stopped thinking I had to write something that changes people's worlds.
In fact, I stopped overthinking in general, put on some music and just wrote whatever came. I ended up with a total of 4,000 words for the week, and a desire to share it with anyone that would listen.
When I got back from my Saturday morning workout, which killed me, all I wanted to do was lay down in my bed and go to Jamba Juice at the same time. Clearly, impossible. For a few minutes before eventually walking my ass to Jamba, I just sat on my couch, feeling sorry for myself.
I was looking forward to getting my hair done on Saturday. And by looking forward, I mean counting down every sweaty workout because I hate the way my hair looks after working out. Getting my hair done by someone else always makes me feel like a new woman. Dry Bar had me walking down the street like:
There's a bar/lounge/restaurant by my apartment that looks like the kind of place where 20-somethings go for a drink after work, and the music blaring onto the street is always pretty current. I decided I needed to check it out. When I walked in Saturday night decked out in 4-inch heels and a cocktail dress, I was instantly disappointed. It was like I just walked into a dusty, dim-lit dive bar that serves questionable food from it's back room. I was not feeling it.
And then I made a bee line for Cafeteria and their amaze-balls mac & cheese. Because mac & cheese makes everything better. I skipped home good and drunk, and of course, well-fed.
The fact that the final season of True Blood premiered Sunday night made me kind sad. The final Eric scene of last season had me looking like the surprise emoji and I needed to know if he died while sunbathing naked in those snowcapped mountains (insert raised eyebrows emoji). But did we even see Eric or hear about his fate in last night's episode? Nopeee. For now, I'm holding on to hope that he burrowed beneath the snow to safety.
Then I shaved with shampoo instead of conditioner and totally razor burned by legs. It itches and every time I scratch, it starts to burn :( All because I neglected to read the bottle before lathering up. Lesson learned.