Riiight.

Ooh. Now here's something for TBC. Only we'd have to order our own printed in large quantities.

No writing and no exercise last night. On the other hand, my scale tells me I've lost three pounds over the last week. I'm not sure whether to believe it (I don't feel any different, but then I didn't when I lost twenty pounds when I was fifteen, either) but I will go back to my schedule tonight, honest.

A long, long time ago (maybe three or four years), Bev gave me a cookbook of fruit and vegetable drinks. The only normal cookbook I have is a Southern Living cookbook that I got for free because in DC in 2000 I found somebody's lost check and when we got back to our apartment in Baltimore Dad mailed it back to her, and she turned out to be a Southern Living editor who wrote Dad a very nice note and sent him the book in gratitude for his honesty. Otherwise they're vegan and Ben & Jerry's and how to make pickles and so on. At any rate, this juice book I flipped through and never looked at again, but yesterday I took it down because I wanted to make something. Maybe I'm tired of merely looking at my nice, hardly-used blender and food processor. Maybe I feel in need of a health-food kick, or a purge, or a celebration of summer and summertime fruit. Maybe I wanted to think up something to do with the half-watermelon in my fridge. (One-quarter watermelon, one lime, teaspoon of honey, half-teaspoon of cinnamon, a few ice cubes.) At any rate, now I'm contemplating the purchase of a juicer, which would just be silly because I can just use my blender or food processor and strain through cheesecloth if necessary if I'm going to make that much effort, and I'm probably not once I let the idea sit for a few days. I know me. I think.

Instead of the writing or exercise I read Mirror, Mirror. It was good, but melancholy, and I was a bit disappointed by the plot. Or the story? I'm not sure. The thing is, what was there was good, and well-woven-together, but that woven story didn't feel like enough. The dwarves, for example, were not adequately explained. I suppose if you look at the story as an explanation of the fairy tale, it's fine, but I was looking for an independent, meaningful story and I'm not sure I got that.

So, all in all not a terribly productive evening, but there's nothing wrong with doing nothing for a few hours and not advancing towards some sort of arbitrary goal. Why do I forget that sometimes? I don't think I'm that much of a Type A personality. Plus, I did do things--shopping, and laundry, and reading the cookbook and the other book, and making couscous salad, and so on. I think what I need is someone lazier than me (and who doesn't feel the need to become less lazy) around so I can compare myself and not worry. Or a thorough psychoanalysis so I can quit comparing, but unfortunately I don't think clinical psychology's at the point where you can order treatments the way you would at the hair salon. (Which reminds me, I need a haircut. It would be a style cut, which annoys me, but my hair looks scraggly. But since the length isn't an issue I keep putting it off.)