Let me tell you

Let me just tell you how excited I am to blow out of this taco stand, buy a new book at Barnes and Noble, hit the gym for an intense workout, go home, shower, have a nice dinner, throw on jeans and a hoodie and hit up a coffee house that I can smoke in, read, write and watch everyone stroll by in the crisp autumn air.

I don't smoke during the week anymore. I am a weekend smoker only. Well, for the past three consecutive weeks I've been. Don't question me or add your two sense (ok so is it cents or sense. We all say it and so scarcely read or write it) That's just the way it is. And yes, I suffer severe head aches every Monday and yes, it does get easier once it becomes habit.

If I don't have plans, I may as well not even exist. We've discussed this. I am all alone again this weekend. Mike's band is really starting to play a lot and Mike has to work Sunday so my going down to Jersey really just equals out to unecessary gas expenses.

I plan to finish my office tomorrow once and for all and do some fall cleaning. I need to go to the market and I intend to make my first ever apple pie. (A Weight Watchers version of course.)

I just hope and pray that by tomorrow night I'm not having an anxiety attack and feeling sorry for myself and 'Oh, I'm so lonely. I hate Philadelphia. Blah blah blah.' Drinking alone does nothing for me anymore either. I always think, "oh, this time will be different." It's never different. It's expensive, noisy alone time and listening in on (hm hm overhearing) the stupidest conversations. It's looking at all the beautiful couples and trying to get the smelly drunk to get the point that I'm not interested so please stop talking especially within one inch of my face. It was fun when I was single and that was a long time ago and call me sexist, but a girl with a boyfriend really has no business alone in a bar on a weekend anyway. During the week is a different story.

The urge to get this book done is so intense, it hurts. I start at the beginning of things though and it's kind of difficult to write a book when you can't figure out what that perfect opening sentence is. I hate it. I'm so lame.

For some reason, I think if I finish my office I'll be more keen on at least trying to write in there so I'll give it a shot. Something tells me though that even when the room is done, I'll just find another excuse.

Okay, so mid sentence I panicked and called my Philly friend who I kinda sorta lost touch with the past two weeks. Good, 15 second conversation and a back-up plan in case I do go stir crazy. (Insert Napoleon Dynamite YES here)

I think that's it.

Oh yeah, I lost just under six pounds in two weeks. I feel ....hmmm.....bouncy actually. I am officially in a new bracket of numbers.