so last night i either left my car unlocked or someone managed to get into my car without breaking a window. i sat in my car and noticed that my things that i keep in my car - mostly trash, maps, and various chargers - had been moved around. nothing had been taken that i could tell, but the person had obviously gone through my glove box, under my seats, even through my trash. and taken nothing. at first i thought the radio shack "iGo" charger that i just bought had been taken, but it was still there. my various chargers and other doodads were in different and annoying spots, and the theoretical thief had even skipped over my $350 sunglasses - the only item of any worth i keep in the front of my car.
the whole experience made me glad that i keep my trunk release locked so that it cannot be opened from the inside of the car - my cache of free books from book thing and capri-suns and random tools could have stolen, or at least rifled through! - but also a little offended that _nothing_ was taken. this person slipped into my life briefly in the night, perused my stuff - even my trash - and decided i had nothing they wanted. they left me with something, though... an empty starbucks energy drink can, and the resulting smell of sugary coffee flavored beverage permeating my car.
As you may or may not know (or care), I keep my schedule full. Currently, I work 30-40 hours a week downtown, spend a lot of time at the gym doing martial arts crap, and try to cram as many auditions and shows into my life as possible. (Then there's the drinking and hanging out with friends that I try to fit in there too.)
Theatre was slow this past year, and for the past two years my rehearsals have worked out so that I was able to squish my marital arts schedule around them. Before I was let go from my last long-term job, I had a gym that I could go to during the workday also. This has changed.
I'm in rehearsals that conflict with just about every class and normal workout day that I partake in. Not only that, it only opens up slightly once the show is open. Marial arts will be there when I'm done and I'll be able to take enough classes so that I don't fall behind, also, a break may allow me to heal some injuries. My main concern is now "getting fat." But where can I fit excercise in when my downstairs neighbors threaten going to the association if I run on the treadmill any time other than 4:45-6pm on the weekdays, I get home at 5 from work and have to be at rehearsal at 6:30 (with an hour commute from my house to rehearsal)?
I'll tell you how.
Today, with my much searched for and newly delievered running backpack, I will run home from work rather than taking the train. It is a beautiful day, it is supposed to be a high of 75 and sunny and so far it seems like it will keep it's promise. This could be the most awesome day ever.
The run will be a little over six miles, so if I keep at a 10 minute mile or less my commute should be about the same as if I had taken the train.
The running backpack could change my life. I will keep you updated. Whether you want me to or not.
I was strolling back through the days of Killoggs past and I came across the old "Bragging Day" posts (2/17/05.) That was some funny and truly inspired stuff. What happened to that Killoggs? Where have you gone?
... in a Starbucks restroom in Edinburgh, about 1 p.m. From inside one of the two stalls, a cellphone rings.
Yeah. What? I'm stuck on the toilet ... I dunno ... yeah... I need a drink first ... yeah, but I can't sit for seven hours on the fuckin train without a drink...no, I can't get off the toilet... I need a drink...
Have I mentioned here that I've lived in Paris for more than three years, that I hate it, that it's been the loneliest three years of my life, that it's a lovely Mecca of intellectual pretensiousness and I can't stand most of the English-speaking people I meet, that I feel a constant John Belushi-in-the-French-restaurant moment coming on every time I go out in public, that every day I'm more firmly convinced that I'm courting either insanity or the permanent loss of whatever soul I have left in pretending to be a college-educated middle-class professional and I should go back to Knoxville where I understand the rules and get the jokes except that I make too much money to ever be happy making minimum wage, and I have no idea how it is that I seem to have done everything I ever dreamed of as a kid except I hate myself and I'm numb most of the time if I'm lucky but my family thinks I'm mostly happy and one of the only redeeming qualities of my life is that I can give them that illusion and all I really want is to have enough money not to think about money all the time, to not hate my job so much I feel like throwing up in the morning, and to have a few people I don't have to explain this shit to, and maybe I'm stupid but I can't seem to hit the trifecta there, I either hate my job, or I'm poor as shit, or I can't find anyone who both speaks English and doesn't make me want to set them on fire? And yes I AM drunk AND I cut back on my meds recently, which is ill-advised since now I can actually feel something and it's not pleasant, except for the wet dreams, and I will no doubt go running back to the rhino-size dosage before long but until then I'm enjoying being my normal vile, vitriolic, unprofessional, perpetually horny self.
Okay, who's calling these plays? Where art thou, Jimbo Fisher? And, for fuck's sake, I know the kid's fast and all, but he's 5 feet 5! He's going to be crushed in the backfield 9 times out of 10, I guarantee you! I know you can throw the ball, Matt Flynn. Why don't you throw the ball some? They have no secondary!
This is what my inner monologue will sound like about once a week from now until approximately mid-December.
