I’ve spent the last week and a half not eating and sleeping incessantly. Oh yes, and working. My boss is on vacation, which means I’m temporarily in charge – sort of. I mean, as much as one CAN be in charge in my work environment. If I were really in charge, I’d be kicking a few asses and taking a few names regarding a few issues. Which is neither here nor there.

I’m stressed. Stressed over the changes I’m trying to make in my life (college – yay! and EEEK!), mostly. SPSCC is taking their sweet time with my transcripts (10 business days is unreasonable when you have the attention span of a fruit fly), and I have a desperate need to know if I’m as smart as I hope I am. Or was. Or something.

Instead of dealing with my anxiety by opening my jaw and hoovering all available food in the vacinity, which by now you should all recognize as my usual coping strategy, I’ve been buying books. Seems healthy on the surface, doesn’t it? Harmless, even!

The question is, how many is too many? I want to say there’s no such thing as too many books, but I’m positive my budget would say otherwise. If I consulted my budget in this matter, which…HAH!

Let’s see. In the past month – maybe even three weeks – I’ve purchased a total of…nevermind. The actual number isn’t important. A lot, it’s safe to assume. I’ll read them all, and probably love them all. And the one from the Barnes & Noble bargain bin doesn’t count. So there.

I skipped a week or so a couple of days at the gym, which might’ve contributed to my shopping spree. I went back today, thank god, and realized that part of my exhaustion/moodiness was the result of no exercise. I’ve become dependent on it.

Despite all of my nerves and agitation, I feel pretty good. Purpose is a lovely, necessary thing to have.

I love books. I love everything about them. The way they smell, the way they feel, the sound the pages make when you turn them. Few things please me more than a lazy morning with a book in my lap and a cup of coffee in my hand.

I’m slowly building my own library. Right now it fits on the extra shelves in my living room, but someday I’d like an entire room set aside for books. My grandmother had a makeshift library in her basement, and it was my favorite room in her house (despite the cold). I’d like mine to have comfortable chairs, a fireplace, and a lot of light.

Meanwhile, e-book sales are skyrocketing. Why buy a paperback when you can download whatever you want to your Kindle? Although it’s just as expensive to download a book as it is to buy one, without the added pleasure of being able to bury your nose in the pages. I mean, I guess a person could sniff their Kindle screen, but computers don’t really have a scent.

I’m not just a lover of stories, I’m a lover of BOOKS. Actual paper and binding books. And it will break my heart when everyone has a Kindle. Barnes & Noble is already reporting a decline in sales. I worry that eventually real books will become obsolete (while environmentalists do cartwheels). And THEN what will I do?

I can tell you this much: I will not be buying a Kindle. Ever. Maybe that makes me old-fashioned or snobby or possibly even ignorant, and I don’t care.

Sixty years from now when the world looks like something from a Jetsons cartoon, I’ll be pulling a battered copy of Wuthering Heights from a shelf. And my blinds will be closed.

In keeping with my intense desire for change (despite the mind-numbing fear currently accompanying it) I’ve been thinking a lot about going back to college.

I went to college for about a year after high school and loved it. I’m enough of a nerd that studying and papers and exams made my heart happy. I quit because my financial aid dried up and I couldn’t afford to go on my own.

I’ve filled out a request for my transcripts. I’m working on the FAFSA. For the first time in a long time I have that hum under my skin, that tingling that tells me I might be doing something right for a change.

Getting a degree, despite my aspirations to be a writer, seems smart. And solid.

Of course, going back to college is a terrifying notion. I’ve been out of school for TEN YEARS. What if I’m stupid now? A brain needs as much exercise as anything else, and mine is on the chubby, couch-potato side of things. Not only that, most of the people attending will be younger than I am. A lot longer. I’m almost thirty. And I’d be starting as a freshman again – I didn’t rack up enough credits to be a sophomore, and god knows how many of my credits will even transfer.

I want this, badly. I want to do this for myself. I’m not in love with my life the way  it is now (in fact, if I could break up with my life I would). A new path is the obvious choice.

I realize that not all endings are happy ones. Some endings just are. If I was in the mood for optimism I could offer up something trite, such as “all endings are also beginnings”, or “when one door closes another door opens.”

However, looking at what I just wrote is making me want to drown myself in a very shallow, very murky puddle (or possibly my coffee, as it’s directly in front of me and therefore convenient for that purpose) so I’m thinking optimism is going to have to wait for another day.

I do not enjoy change. Earlier today I tried enjoying it more by adding pizza, but it didn’t help things go down easier.

My life has been idling at neutral for about five years. YEARS. What the hell am I doing here? I do not want to be one of those old people who end up bitter and alone thinking of all the opportunities they missed. I want to look back at my life and feel contentment, to be able to laugh.

For that to happen, change must occur. YUCK. I get cranky just thinking about it – which is a direct side effect of my most prominent personality trait, fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of getting mugged and having to stand in line at the DMV for hours to get a new license. Basically I’m a gigantic chicken. If life were a hen house I would rule the roost, okay?

I don’t like knowing that about myself. Fear shouldn’t play a role in my decision making, and the fact that it sometimes does makes me angry with myself. Angry and ashamed.

I’ve come to some heavy, not altogether comfortable decisions in the past week.
1) Change is essential. If I stay the course my life won’t be anywhere near what I want it to be.
2) I need to grow a pair. Or at least borrow a pair.

Oh, look – it’s raining. There are puddles outside calling my name. It’s nice to know God does listen, and can be helpful.

This pity party was brought to you by Amber. She appreciates your time and wants you to know she was totally kidding about all the puddles. Thanks, and have a great night!

In the office earlier today:

Me: Turns on AC.
Boss: “Turn that thing off.”
Me: “It’s hot in here! Aren’t you hot?”
Boss: “I’m allergic to air conditioning.”
Me: …………
Boss: “I am.”
Me: “Uh-huh. Okay. You know it just circulates cold air, right?”
Boss: Gives me dirty look.
Me: “So you’re allergic to air? Because…that would be bad. Seeing as air? Is pretty much everywhere in the world, all the time.”
Boss: Leaves office.

Don’t worry, I won’t be getting fired. My boss loves me, despite my smart-assed nature. And my tendency to point out the obvious. Maybe I should have made him feel a bit better by suggesting dust or pollen as a reasonable alternative? Nah.

I went to the library today in search of more reading material (because really, there can never be enough) and found a book called I’m No Monster: The Horrifying True Story of Josef Fritzl, by Stefanie Marsh & Bojan Pancevski. Actually I found several, but when I slid that one across the counter the librarian looked up with alarm on her face and said, “I should warn you – only four people have checked out this book, and three brought it back without finishing it. Apparently the things he did are just awful, and very detailed.”

If you know me, you know I was indulging in a mental eye-roll. First: I have never NOT finished a book. Ever. I’m incapable. Second, she just gave a mild case of curiosity a big boost. I HAVE to know what’s in that book, and right away.

Other books I checked out:
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Pirsig
Shattered Silence – The Untold Story of a Serial Killer’s Daughter, by Melissa G. Moore & M. Bridget Cook
Tears in the Darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and it’s Aftermath, by Michael Norman & Elizabeth M. Norman

I might’ve been in a slightly morbid frame of mind while I was looking. What memorable books have you read lately?

I have new gym shoes! They came in the mail today, and I went to test them immediately. My old pair sucked – it’s a real bitch to run when your arches are cramping. I’m thrilled to be able to say the new (cheap! on sale!) pair are loaded with cushiony goodness, as well as appealing to my vanity by being cute. Yay!

Meanwhile, in the past week I discovered I was selling myself short, fitness-wise. I’ve been setting limits for myself – 45 lbs, 10 minutes, etc. And I’ve been meeting them, but not bothering to even try and surpass them.

Until I found myself reaching my self-imposed limit on the treadmill, and thinking, I’m not tired – maybe I should keep going? And so I did. And it sounds ridiculous and obvious, and HELLO AMBER HERE’S YOUR DARWIN AWARD, but REALLY. I went for longer than I thought I could. And sure, I was dripping puddles of sweat and gasping for air, but I did it.

After that earth-shattering revelation (oh, bite me), I decided it’s high time to kick my own ass. So I have been. I’ve been running harder and longer, and lifting heavier weights. There were a couple days I beat my alarm until I was positive it was broken and thought about not going at all, but I made myself go. And now I’m going every day.

More than once I’ve been on the treadmill (I have a deeply ingrained hatred of running, so much that I sometimes have to pretend I’m being chased by scary monsters to keep going) and my strength – okay, mostly my strength of WILL – has started flagging, and I find myself considering giving up. But I found something better than monsters to motivate my increasingly less-jiggly ass.

Now I just think of Demi Moore – GI Jane, anyone? I remember that movie, especially the part where she was fighting for scraps out of a barrel in the rain – and STILL managed to hang upside down and execute perfect situps. If GI Jane can be half-starved and still kick ass, I can probably run more and lift more on my diet, which is less of a diet and more of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

When I’m running and watching the clock, I want to die after about four minutes. I think of quitting. I think of GI Jane and keep going. After about seven minutes I’m resigned to my fate, unhappily. After about ten minutes I realize my body isn’t going to collapse, and I want to finish – I’m going to finish. It’s satisfying to know it. This is corny, but when I hit the fifteen minute mark I feel a thrill, a heady sense of triumph. I’ve finished. I ran flat out, for 15 whole minutes, on an incline – AFTER torturing myself on the elliptical for 20 minutes.

I know some people might roll their eyes at 15 minutes, might scoff and call my sense of accomplishment undeserved. But I’ve never done it before. Ever. Until now.

Check it out:

BLONDE. On me! It’s so bizarre. I think I like it though! Well, aside from the prospect of constant maintenance…what do you guys think? (The hairstyle is not mine, sadly, but courtesy of Blake Lively on instyle.com – I just tweaked the colors).

And special thanks to Busty Satan for giving me the link!

- I recently watched Shutter Island, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, and am FLUMMOXED regarding the ending. Was he crazy? Personally, I believe he was sane – or as sane as he could be, given the circumstances – and the doctors and nurses on the island conspired to drive him crazy and make him doubt himself to cover up their EVILdoings. What did you think?

- Rowdy went home, and I’m a little bit sad about it – but happy to have my sister back (I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I saw her). Happier still about the pretty, bright blue t-shirt and baseball cap I got. I LOVE cheesy, touristy gifts. HEART.

- I’ve started going to the gym every day (instead of every other) to combat my emotionally-charged eating habits. I’m still trying to eat healthier, with sporadic success. It might be my imagination, but I think my belly is shrinking a tiny bit. So the extra gym time must be helping, at least a little.

- I’ve been considering going blonde for a while now. Not just highlights, but my whole head. BLONDE. I haven’t been totally blond since I was about three, but I want to go back. I’m bored with my look – my hair, my makeup. Everything is making me fall asleep. Something has to change. I don’t think a new shade of lipstick is gonna cut it, and I’m too much of a chickenshit to get a tattoo, so…hair it is. Of course, a decision like this can’t be taken lightly, so I’m asking you guys what you think:

Should I go blonde? And don’t think I haven’t considered the jokes about my hair finally matching my personality.

I’ve had temporary custody of Rowdy for about a week now. Heidi will be here sometime tomorrow to claim him and take him home…except I want to keep him.

He and Luna have finally started getting along (a little bit). And he’s gotten all cuddly. I curled up on the couch to take a nap yesterday and before I knew it he was squirming up against my stomach, pressing his cold nose against my hand. We snoozed for an hour or so.

Another bonus: Taking him for his daily walks has been helpful for my butt. Seriously. We walk to get the mail and back, in addition to my gym time (sadly Rowdy doesn’t come to the gym with me).

He’s always in such a great mood, besides. Dogs are so HAPPY. He waggles around, all cheerful and affectionate. Just seeing him chase his stupid, demolished lobter puts a smile on my face – partly because his legs are so short that it’s hilarious to watch him run.

But LOOK:

Would YOU give him back?

A while ago, some bad things happened to me. These things caused a rift between me and some of my family; I felt betrayed, and they thought I was being ridiculous. Things haven’t improved very much, despite the passage of time and the lack of discussion pertaining to what I’ll call The Event.

I never said a word about any of it to my oldest brother – partially because I wanted to forget and partially because I had a feeling I knew exactly how he’d react, and I didn’t want to lose another family member.

I’m wrong a lot of the time, but I rarely consider it a relief. Today it was. I ended up randomly talking to him about The Event – he brought it up – and was surprised by how understanding he was. His perception of things was more like mine than I ever would have given him credit for.

He was supportive. He was very nearly gentle, a word I can rarely apply to him. I definitely misjudged him.

I’ve got to start giving people more credit.