A huge chunk of blogging is tooting one’s own horn, so allow me to say how much I rock. I’m all kinds of super productive girl lately. Unfortunately, my single-mindedness at crossing off items on my list of To Dos has cut into my favorite thing in the whole world, wasting time. That includes reading recaps, trolling Buffy boards, blogging and reading blogs. On the plus side of things, I’ve got zillions of copyright violations to mail in the form of MP3s on CD, a hand-knit scarf to give a way, a refinished kitchen complete with a brand new space-saver microwave, thrice-colored hair (in one week) and a deck-free backyard.

Work has also been busier lately that I’ve ever known it to be in the three years I’ve been here. I like work better when I’m busy. I’m actually feeling a bit walleyed right now, actually, because I stare at the computer monitor too much.

I’ve been cooking a lot lately, but not working out a comparable amount. I baked Texas Cow Chip cookies from scratch and delivered some to my mom, who has recently had surgery on her hand. I also gave some to M when I picked her up at the airport and drove her an hour up to her dorm at University of North Texas, who was flying into Big D because her paternal grandmother passed away. I brought the rest up to the office where they were promptly devoured. But I was the Office Champion for two days. Men are so easy to please: either stroke their egos or bake them cookies.

Saturday’s success in cooking to success in physical activity ratio was totally inverse, though. I had guests for the weekend, so I got up and made biscuits from scratch, turkey bacon, coffee and eggs. We needed a good meal because we were going to pull up the deck in my backyard. But my world! The biscuits were rancid. Ran. Cid. Oh, they were so awful. And neither of my guests said a word about it, either. Bless their souls because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Ugh. That biscuit was the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. After my cooking debaucle, I spent six hours outside doing manual labor. Usually I fail miserably at my attempt to work out, recreate or perform generic physical activity and excel in the kitchen. It must have been a whole Mars-out-of-sight thing.

I’m an Aries. Doesn’t that mean Mars is, like, my ruling planet or planetary force or some such nonsense?


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