Today ended with me padding down a hallway in my office building barefoot, looking for my boss and carrying a copy of a Harry Potter movie on blu-ray. I was yanking unhappily at my dress (dress: slang for hot little sack of torture) and contemplating the lack of self knowledge that had led me to this moment. Which led me, in turn, to contemplate some lessons that, no matter how many times I "learn" them, I don't really seem to learn them.
Number 1: I like to write.
Sometimes, life gets busy. And by "life gets busy," I mean sometimes I feel compelled to come home from work, put on sweatpants, open a giant bag of Red Vines, and work my way through 18+ episodes of 3rd Rock From the Sun. Then I go to bed feeling tired but vaguely unsatisfied. If, instead, I come home and put on a record and do a little writing, when it's time to go to sleep, I feel good. Note: In either case, I am likely to wear sweatpants and eat Red Vines.
Number 2: I like to read.
The fact that I like to read isn't something I forget. It's more like something I overlook. I get into habits where I'm writing and drawing (or lounging and watching) and I don't pick up a book for a while. Then I crack one open and I just want to stop everyone I see and be like "HEY! Do you know about books!? BOOKS ARE AWESOME! You can read them! Stuff happens! It might restore your faith in humanity or it might just keep you guessing about why Daisy is obsessed with this Gatsby guy's shirts but either way—you win!"
Number 3: High heels suck. A lot.
Some days I wake up and think, "I will be a professional today!" I wear a suit or at least a jacket and a pair of heels and leave the house feeling like a million bucks. By the end of the day, I'm in a professional nose dive as I run around barefoot and daydreaming about amputating my pinky toes.
Number 4: I hate hot weather.
Because I insist on living in an area that is entirely Too Hot for my liking (and for stupid reasons, too, like proximity to family and a job), each spring I play the same game where I delude myself into thinking I have gotten over my hatred of hot weather. "Is it 90 today? I hadn't noticed. It's not so bad honestly. So childish of me to think this was intolerable." And it's all very well to say that as I sit on my bed in my air-conditioned apartment checking weather.com. But three minutes walking outside and I'm ready to kill someone, usually the designer of whatever clothing I might be wearing. "GD Banana Republic! Who makes a strapless wool dress? What were they thinking? I am in merino hell!"
Tomorrow I'm wearing flip flops and a toga and canceling my Netflix account.