In other news, I'm getting restless.
I might either try to redesign the look of the site, or move it to my professional site so I only have to update one of them.
And I need a Web cam. Sigh.
I'll keep you posted.
Showing posts with label etc. etc. etc.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label etc. etc. etc.. Show all posts
Monday, January 11, 2010
Thursday, August 20, 2009
So, after being chastised at a professional convention for not having multimedia and online clips, I decided to create a Web site.
After some tinkering -- BAM -- here's what I came up with:
www.taliabuford.com
Once I start doing more multimedia, I'll be adding in my slideshows, videos and photos to another page in the site.
Let me know what you think.
I'm taking all suggestions and compliments. :-)
After some tinkering -- BAM -- here's what I came up with:
www.taliabuford.com
Once I start doing more multimedia, I'll be adding in my slideshows, videos and photos to another page in the site.
Let me know what you think.
I'm taking all suggestions and compliments. :-)
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
On Self Esteem
From the father of a friend of mine:
I heard that.
"You gotta be able to say 'I like me. And if you don't like me, f*ck you, 'cause I like me.'"
I heard that.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
A little belated Independence
It was about 5 p.m. when we started making moves.
My morning was spent in Providence, shopping it up and running (yet somehow, still failing) close to 3 miles in preparation for a race in a few weeks. The BF was there so we hopped in DeeDee and headed towards the Bean -- a friend was having a barbecue we were going to drop through.
Now, this was huge. Ever since I've been in RI, I have wanted to go to a real barbecue. Not just grilled meat in someone's dining room. A barbecue. With music. And watermelon. And pie. And people I don't know. Yeah, I wanted to go to a BBQ. So the BF and I were pretty excited about actually having plans this Independence Day.
They got cut short when we realized that none of our other friends were going to the shindig. And while we were cool with the host, we didn't want to be the only ones we knew there. So as we pulled onto his street around 5 p.m., the plan had already been hatched.
I bought a tabletop grill and charcoal on Friday, because I had a feeling I might want to barbecue this weekend. It was still in the trunk because I'd been too lazy to bring it into the house. But we needed something to grill. We hopped into the car and made a mad dash for the liquor store.
Allow me to explain. GQ had a feature on Fizz -- the bubbly carbonation added to some "adult" drinks. They came with three recipes and the BF and I decided to try a few of them out. We needed to get ingredients from the liquor store because, well, who knows how long they'd be open on a holiday. And you can have a holiday without hot dogs. You cannot have one without cocktails.
Two liquor stores later, we make it to Stop & Shop, split up and grab the fixings for a simple barbecue: beef patties, Ball Parks and baked beans. I already had some chicken marinating in the fridge.
We get to the house and unload our bounty. I ask the BF to assemble the grill -- I figure it's a tabletop, it couldn't take that much, right? I'm unpacking the groceries when I see him whizz by me, grab my car keys and say he'll be right back. I keep unpacking. Five minutes later, I'm done and I head to the back porch to check on the grill progress.
There was little. The BF had gone to get a screwdriver because they didn't have a good one in the house.
I wasn't prepared to wait.
I grabbed a folding chair and whipped out the instructions. I couldn't believe a $20 grill could be this complicated. I started twisting on washers and hand tightening things and before you know it, the BF was standing at the door behind me.
"What step are you on," he asked, a screw driver in his hand.
I peek at the directions. "Six." Of nine steps. He assembles the legs to the grill and we decide that really, we didn't need the screwdriver because everything could be tightened by hand. With a grill firmly assembled, I set about making my first charcoal fire.
The BF was assigned a more important task: mixing up those fabled cocktails.
First, I tried putting the coals in a single layer on the grill floor. They lit, but soon extinguished. So I turned to the Internet. As the sounds of "Summertime" played from the BF's speakers, I googled "how to start a charcoal fire."
I love the Internet.
In no time, I learned I needed to assemble the coals in a pyramid shape. And possibly throw some little newspaper balls (pause) in the midst to keep the fires burning. I assembled, lit and waited. It was getting dark and I was getting hungry. I went to check on the coals. Some were glowing, some were ashen, others were black. I rearranged the black coals so they could get more heat and threw a few more paper balls into the mix. By the time I'd whipped up an impromptu macaroni salad (please get like me), my coals were glowing red and ashen. It was time to cook.
It was about 7:30 when I put the first pieces of chicken on the grill. The vinegar in the marinade made it flame up, and I worried that maybe barbecuing in the dark on a wooden porch wasn't a good idea. I tried to arrange the various meats around the grill so they'd get varying levels of heat. Chicken in the hotter places, burgers next and hot dogs around the perimeter.
Meanwhile, the BF stumbled upon what I believe is my new boogie: the Gin Fizz. And it's super simple: equal parts gin, simple syrup, lemon juice, club soda. That's it! And it tastes like divine lemonade.
It didn't take long for the food to cook and I even caught a glimpse of some fireworks from over the treeline in the backyard. I piled the cooked meat into a disposable pan and headed inside.
"Food's ready, guys," I yelled to the BF, his roomie (Magic) and another friend who'd popped by. We fixed our plates, dilly-dallied a bit and then sat down to eat. By the middle of my pasta salad, I started to feel the fizz creep up on me. The BF and I sat amazed at how (relatively) simple this had all been. And while we were always sulking about not having a barbecue to go to, we realized, it's not that hard to throw one. We did it in about 3 hours.
Now we just gotta find some people to invite.
My morning was spent in Providence, shopping it up and running (yet somehow, still failing) close to 3 miles in preparation for a race in a few weeks. The BF was there so we hopped in DeeDee and headed towards the Bean -- a friend was having a barbecue we were going to drop through.
Now, this was huge. Ever since I've been in RI, I have wanted to go to a real barbecue. Not just grilled meat in someone's dining room. A barbecue. With music. And watermelon. And pie. And people I don't know. Yeah, I wanted to go to a BBQ. So the BF and I were pretty excited about actually having plans this Independence Day.
They got cut short when we realized that none of our other friends were going to the shindig. And while we were cool with the host, we didn't want to be the only ones we knew there. So as we pulled onto his street around 5 p.m., the plan had already been hatched.
I bought a tabletop grill and charcoal on Friday, because I had a feeling I might want to barbecue this weekend. It was still in the trunk because I'd been too lazy to bring it into the house. But we needed something to grill. We hopped into the car and made a mad dash for the liquor store.
Allow me to explain. GQ had a feature on Fizz -- the bubbly carbonation added to some "adult" drinks. They came with three recipes and the BF and I decided to try a few of them out. We needed to get ingredients from the liquor store because, well, who knows how long they'd be open on a holiday. And you can have a holiday without hot dogs. You cannot have one without cocktails.
Two liquor stores later, we make it to Stop & Shop, split up and grab the fixings for a simple barbecue: beef patties, Ball Parks and baked beans. I already had some chicken marinating in the fridge.
We get to the house and unload our bounty. I ask the BF to assemble the grill -- I figure it's a tabletop, it couldn't take that much, right? I'm unpacking the groceries when I see him whizz by me, grab my car keys and say he'll be right back. I keep unpacking. Five minutes later, I'm done and I head to the back porch to check on the grill progress.
There was little. The BF had gone to get a screwdriver because they didn't have a good one in the house.
I wasn't prepared to wait.
I grabbed a folding chair and whipped out the instructions. I couldn't believe a $20 grill could be this complicated. I started twisting on washers and hand tightening things and before you know it, the BF was standing at the door behind me.
"What step are you on," he asked, a screw driver in his hand.
I peek at the directions. "Six." Of nine steps. He assembles the legs to the grill and we decide that really, we didn't need the screwdriver because everything could be tightened by hand. With a grill firmly assembled, I set about making my first charcoal fire.
The BF was assigned a more important task: mixing up those fabled cocktails.
First, I tried putting the coals in a single layer on the grill floor. They lit, but soon extinguished. So I turned to the Internet. As the sounds of "Summertime" played from the BF's speakers, I googled "how to start a charcoal fire."
I love the Internet.
In no time, I learned I needed to assemble the coals in a pyramid shape. And possibly throw some little newspaper balls (pause) in the midst to keep the fires burning. I assembled, lit and waited. It was getting dark and I was getting hungry. I went to check on the coals. Some were glowing, some were ashen, others were black. I rearranged the black coals so they could get more heat and threw a few more paper balls into the mix. By the time I'd whipped up an impromptu macaroni salad (please get like me), my coals were glowing red and ashen. It was time to cook.
It was about 7:30 when I put the first pieces of chicken on the grill. The vinegar in the marinade made it flame up, and I worried that maybe barbecuing in the dark on a wooden porch wasn't a good idea. I tried to arrange the various meats around the grill so they'd get varying levels of heat. Chicken in the hotter places, burgers next and hot dogs around the perimeter.
Meanwhile, the BF stumbled upon what I believe is my new boogie: the Gin Fizz. And it's super simple: equal parts gin, simple syrup, lemon juice, club soda. That's it! And it tastes like divine lemonade.
It didn't take long for the food to cook and I even caught a glimpse of some fireworks from over the treeline in the backyard. I piled the cooked meat into a disposable pan and headed inside.
"Food's ready, guys," I yelled to the BF, his roomie (Magic) and another friend who'd popped by. We fixed our plates, dilly-dallied a bit and then sat down to eat. By the middle of my pasta salad, I started to feel the fizz creep up on me. The BF and I sat amazed at how (relatively) simple this had all been. And while we were always sulking about not having a barbecue to go to, we realized, it's not that hard to throw one. We did it in about 3 hours.
Now we just gotta find some people to invite.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Why my friends are SO much cooler than yours
I get paragraphs like this in e-mails from them:
"so, i waited to reply after reading your email last night because i wanted to say something meaningful and inspiring, but then i got all jacked up on a bag of hot tamales (the candy, not the mexican dish made of chopped meat, crushed peppers and a doughy outside layer) and then i passed out on the couch whilst coming down off the sugar high."
Tell me that doesn't just make your day. Tell me! You can't. Because you'd be lying.
"so, i waited to reply after reading your email last night because i wanted to say something meaningful and inspiring, but then i got all jacked up on a bag of hot tamales (the candy, not the mexican dish made of chopped meat, crushed peppers and a doughy outside layer) and then i passed out on the couch whilst coming down off the sugar high."
Tell me that doesn't just make your day. Tell me! You can't. Because you'd be lying.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Can you spell that for me?
How Popular is your name?
From the WashPost:
So, how popular is your name?
From the WashPost:
The Social Security Administration's list of the top baby names of 2008 has been released. And, once again, topping the list are ... drumroll, please ... Jacob and Emma. Do those names sound awfully familiar? That may be because Jacob has topped the list for a decade and Emma was third last year, behind Emily and Isabella. Isabella, by the way, is second again this year and Emily is third. Emily had led the list of girls' names for 12 years before getting the bump. ...My name comes in at a solid 389, while similar names come in at: 77 (Aaliyah), 544 (Jaliyah), and 879 (Thalia). I just wasted a good five minutes plugging in the names of my relatives and friends.
Fast-moving risers in the name game, Social Security says are Chloe (10) and Khloe (up to 196 in 2008 from 665 in 2007), Miley (yes, we can thank Miley Cyrus for that one) and Jacoby. Barack managed not to make the list, though it did skyrocket from 12,535 in 2007 to 2,409 in 2008.
So, how popular is your name?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I've been busy
Actually, no. I've just been tired.
I feel like I did like two trials non-stop last month. I didn't. But the one I did do was a doozy that my newsroom was having wet dreams over so it was causing me much angst. First day of testimony, they're like, give me 175-190 lines.
'scuse me? That's like 25 to 30 inches, sir. People seem to think a bunch of stuff happens during a day of testimony, like it does on TV. They lie. This is how testimony goes in real life.
Prosecutor: What's your name?
Witness: Joe Smith.
P: Where are you employed?
W: Widgets and Stuff.
P: What do yo do there?
W: I'm a janitor
P: How long have you been there?
W: 15 years
P: Do you have a family?
W: Yes.
P: Are you married?
W: Yes.
P: To whom?
W: Sally Smith.
P: How long have you been married?
W: 25 years.
P: Did you have chance to be working on March 23, 2005?
W: yes I did.
P: And how did you start that day?
W: I cleaned the trash cans and picked my nose and read people's mail like I always do. ....
But it takes a lot longer than it took you to read that. Trust me. And cats don't want to believe me when I tell them that
Pause for the cause.
I think Dan Barry just walked into my newsroom. Ahh, I think he's speaking (or spoke) at a journalism class taught by one of my colleagues. Apparently he's got local ties. From wiki: Dan Barry is a reporter for The New York Times. His column, "About New York", appeared on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the NY Region section of the paper. While working for the Providence Journal-Bulletin in 1994, Barry won the Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting after exposing corruption in the Rhode Island court system. Well, dang.
Back to our regularly scheduled post.
So anyway, they want me to pull 30 inches of crap out of my neck when they don't understand that the first few witnesses aren't necessarily the juicy ones. Like, they have to set scene and establish all these things before they get to the juicy stuff. Let ME -- the person who sat in court all day -- tell you how much I can pull out of my neck, please.
But I wrote it anyway. Here it is. I got in trouble for not having enough attribution. I complied in later stories.
So after that, I started writing this other story that keeps getting held. Shoot, actually two stories. I know it's the nature of the beast, it just is MAD irritating. Because they keep coming to me with stuff that's in the story asking me about it. And I fix it, or bring their point up higher in the story and the joints still haven't run. Someone kill me.
Beyond that, training has been beating me. And I'm lazy. I did do 30 minutes of core strengthening yoga this afternoon followed by a 45 minute run/walk that covers the 3.1 miles I'll be running on May 2. I was proud because I got further than I had been before I stopped to walk, but still kinda discouraged because I had to stop. I'm building up slowly, so I figured it best to at least get used to the distance, even if I didn't run it the entire time. I ran in intervals. So I guess that's improvement, huh?
I'm hungry and I'm about to go to a Town Council budget workshop session. Joy.
I feel like I did like two trials non-stop last month. I didn't. But the one I did do was a doozy that my newsroom was having wet dreams over so it was causing me much angst. First day of testimony, they're like, give me 175-190 lines.
'scuse me? That's like 25 to 30 inches, sir. People seem to think a bunch of stuff happens during a day of testimony, like it does on TV. They lie. This is how testimony goes in real life.
Prosecutor: What's your name?
Witness: Joe Smith.
P: Where are you employed?
W: Widgets and Stuff.
P: What do yo do there?
W: I'm a janitor
P: How long have you been there?
W: 15 years
P: Do you have a family?
W: Yes.
P: Are you married?
W: Yes.
P: To whom?
W: Sally Smith.
P: How long have you been married?
W: 25 years.
P: Did you have chance to be working on March 23, 2005?
W: yes I did.
P: And how did you start that day?
W: I cleaned the trash cans and picked my nose and read people's mail like I always do. ....
But it takes a lot longer than it took you to read that. Trust me. And cats don't want to believe me when I tell them that
Pause for the cause.
I think Dan Barry just walked into my newsroom. Ahh, I think he's speaking (or spoke) at a journalism class taught by one of my colleagues. Apparently he's got local ties. From wiki: Dan Barry is a reporter for The New York Times. His column, "About New York", appeared on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the NY Region section of the paper. While working for the Providence Journal-Bulletin in 1994, Barry won the Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting after exposing corruption in the Rhode Island court system. Well, dang.
Back to our regularly scheduled post.
So anyway, they want me to pull 30 inches of crap out of my neck when they don't understand that the first few witnesses aren't necessarily the juicy ones. Like, they have to set scene and establish all these things before they get to the juicy stuff. Let ME -- the person who sat in court all day -- tell you how much I can pull out of my neck, please.
But I wrote it anyway. Here it is. I got in trouble for not having enough attribution. I complied in later stories.
So after that, I started writing this other story that keeps getting held. Shoot, actually two stories. I know it's the nature of the beast, it just is MAD irritating. Because they keep coming to me with stuff that's in the story asking me about it. And I fix it, or bring their point up higher in the story and the joints still haven't run. Someone kill me.
Beyond that, training has been beating me. And I'm lazy. I did do 30 minutes of core strengthening yoga this afternoon followed by a 45 minute run/walk that covers the 3.1 miles I'll be running on May 2. I was proud because I got further than I had been before I stopped to walk, but still kinda discouraged because I had to stop. I'm building up slowly, so I figured it best to at least get used to the distance, even if I didn't run it the entire time. I ran in intervals. So I guess that's improvement, huh?
I'm hungry and I'm about to go to a Town Council budget workshop session. Joy.
Monday, February 09, 2009
I'm Running for Cancer!
Well, for a cure for cancer!
I'm running in the Revlon Run/Walk for Women -- a 5K race to fund cancer research this May in NYC. raiser My sister formed the team I'm running with -- The Conquerors -- as in : No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. (Romans 8:37)
I've always supported cancer awareness initiatives, from buying the breast cancer stamps to donating to other people involved in cancer awareness things.
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in the fall of 2000. It was my senior year and I remember watching as she went through a mastectomy and then chemotherapy. She was one of every seven women you meet that will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. More than 182,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, and 21,000 with ovarian cancer this year alone. Finding a cure for cancer in all it's forms is so important and events like the Revlon Run/Walk for Women is helping bring the world one step closer by helping fund important research.
But none of that research happens without you.
Whatever you're willing to give - a quarter, $5, $25 or more - will go toward financing research, education and prevention programs. Please consider supporting my team of the Revlon Run/Walk for Women by visiting this site and making a donation.
However big or however small, know that your donation will make a difference.
I'm running in the Revlon Run/Walk for Women -- a 5K race to fund cancer research this May in NYC. raiser My sister formed the team I'm running with -- The Conquerors -- as in : No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. (Romans 8:37)
I've always supported cancer awareness initiatives, from buying the breast cancer stamps to donating to other people involved in cancer awareness things.
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in the fall of 2000. It was my senior year and I remember watching as she went through a mastectomy and then chemotherapy. She was one of every seven women you meet that will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. More than 182,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, and 21,000 with ovarian cancer this year alone. Finding a cure for cancer in all it's forms is so important and events like the Revlon Run/Walk for Women is helping bring the world one step closer by helping fund important research.
But none of that research happens without you.
Whatever you're willing to give - a quarter, $5, $25 or more - will go toward financing research, education and prevention programs. Please consider supporting my team of the Revlon Run/Walk for Women by visiting this site and making a donation.
However big or however small, know that your donation will make a difference.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Closet Case
So I'm in the midst of this massive fall cleaning.
I'm doing pretty okay. My house looks otherwise, but I'm doing okay. A large part of that is probably that I spend as little time as possible in my house, and if I am there, I'm cleaning. So I'm not just like, sitting in a pile of purses, ATM receipts and expired salad dressing.
Well, I decided to tackle my closet on Saturday. I'd been sick all week and took a half day on Friday. After sleeping the night away heavily drugged, I got up feeling pretty okay.
And I knew I needed to clean.
Confession time: Remember that trip I went on? Yeah, in July? Um, my suitcase was still sitting at the foot of my bed unpacked. I'd step over it on my way into bed each night. If I needed something inside of it, I'd just rifle through the contents and find the wrinkled article of clothing and put it on.
Don't judge me.
So, I didn't want to do too much on my first day not feeling horrible, so I figured unpacking the suitcase would be a worthwhile venture. But then I realized something: the reason I hadn't unpacked was because I had nowhere to put anything. My walk in closet (yes, it's fantastic) was jammed pack.
Yet I had nothing to wear. Peculiar? I think so.
Tackling the closet was no easy task. As I mentioned, I'm a semi-pack rat, so it pained me to consider throwing out club shirts I hadn't worn since I was 18, shoes I'd worn until the soles flapped, or bags that were perfectly fine except for the gaping hole in the lining. But slowly, I tackled the closet. Taking out the papers, cleaning out the purses, putting every ill fitting, ugly, or just ridiculously old piece of clothing into a trash bag and tossing it into the living room. (That pile of bags, by the way, is beginning to take over my living area. But I digress.)
When I finished hanging up the last skirt and restacking the last shoe box, I was amazed at what I saw. My closet was 1/2 full.
I panicked.
What would I wear? What if all of my clothes were dirty and I needed that short sleeved white polyester sweater that I'd gotten in 11th grade? And how would I ever replace my clothes?!
Then I realized I'd just done laundry and a bunch of clothes were still in the laundry basket.
Relief.
Still, it made me realize that this is the perfect opportunity to re-up my closet. I'm tossing some old jackets and winter coats next -- and my prom dress may have to go as well -- so when it gets cold, I'll have to buy stylish replacements to keep me going through these tough New England winters.
This might not be so bad after all.
I'm doing pretty okay. My house looks otherwise, but I'm doing okay. A large part of that is probably that I spend as little time as possible in my house, and if I am there, I'm cleaning. So I'm not just like, sitting in a pile of purses, ATM receipts and expired salad dressing.
Well, I decided to tackle my closet on Saturday. I'd been sick all week and took a half day on Friday. After sleeping the night away heavily drugged, I got up feeling pretty okay.
And I knew I needed to clean.
Confession time: Remember that trip I went on? Yeah, in July? Um, my suitcase was still sitting at the foot of my bed unpacked. I'd step over it on my way into bed each night. If I needed something inside of it, I'd just rifle through the contents and find the wrinkled article of clothing and put it on.
Don't judge me.
So, I didn't want to do too much on my first day not feeling horrible, so I figured unpacking the suitcase would be a worthwhile venture. But then I realized something: the reason I hadn't unpacked was because I had nowhere to put anything. My walk in closet (yes, it's fantastic) was jammed pack.
Yet I had nothing to wear. Peculiar? I think so.
Tackling the closet was no easy task. As I mentioned, I'm a semi-pack rat, so it pained me to consider throwing out club shirts I hadn't worn since I was 18, shoes I'd worn until the soles flapped, or bags that were perfectly fine except for the gaping hole in the lining. But slowly, I tackled the closet. Taking out the papers, cleaning out the purses, putting every ill fitting, ugly, or just ridiculously old piece of clothing into a trash bag and tossing it into the living room. (That pile of bags, by the way, is beginning to take over my living area. But I digress.)
When I finished hanging up the last skirt and restacking the last shoe box, I was amazed at what I saw. My closet was 1/2 full.
I panicked.
What would I wear? What if all of my clothes were dirty and I needed that short sleeved white polyester sweater that I'd gotten in 11th grade? And how would I ever replace my clothes?!
Then I realized I'd just done laundry and a bunch of clothes were still in the laundry basket.
Relief.
Still, it made me realize that this is the perfect opportunity to re-up my closet. I'm tossing some old jackets and winter coats next -- and my prom dress may have to go as well -- so when it gets cold, I'll have to buy stylish replacements to keep me going through these tough New England winters.
This might not be so bad after all.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Nervous Energy
It's 2 a.m. and I'm up.
It's 2:17 a.m. to be exact. And I'm up.
sigh.
I have a lot of nervous energy. Like, a ton.
People always wonder how I stay cool. How I always seem to be calm. How I seem to be so unaffected by the pressures and aggrevations of daily life.
Little secret people: I am.
I'm highly affected and it manifests itself through the nervous energy that has me wired at 2:18 a.m. It's the same nervous energy that has led me to create two Facebook albums (well, one and designs on another as we speak), wash the mountain of dishes in my sink and clean my kitchen table (you haven't seen my kitchen table) after I just got back from watching Dark Knight in IMAX (sidenote, if you can, go do that. Heath Ledger is amazing).
So sometimes the nervous energy works to my advantage.
I've been pretty good at harvesting it thus far. It's why people consider me, I suppose, motivated and upwardly mobile. Because I use the energy most use to get mad to do something. It worked in school, where it just motivated me to study hard. Sometimes it had side effects. In college, in the midst of the Hampton hoopla, I developed a slight eye twitch during the most stressful time. It went away, but that tick showed me that maybe having all this energy pent up inside just to remain calm on the outside isn't worth it.
How quickly we forget the lessons of our youth.
I'm older now. Like to think I'm wiser. But I know that I'm not. I still hold that anger in a lot of times. Choosing to swallow it instead of giving someone a piece of my mind or bursting into an expletive laced tirade. So I'll keep quiet and go arrange a bookshelf in the middle of an argument. Or fold clothes. Or do my taxes.
Not very productive.
Sigh. I feel like I had a place to go with this, but alas, I'm slightly drugged up on that 'tussin for this nagging cough I've been trying to shake for the last week. At least the drugs let me go to sleep semi-cough free. Alright kiddies. Sorry if I wasted yo.ur time. But I had to do something to get rid of this nervous energy.
'Nite
I'm
It's 2:17 a.m. to be exact. And I'm up.
sigh.
I have a lot of nervous energy. Like, a ton.
People always wonder how I stay cool. How I always seem to be calm. How I seem to be so unaffected by the pressures and aggrevations of daily life.
Little secret people: I am.
I'm highly affected and it manifests itself through the nervous energy that has me wired at 2:18 a.m. It's the same nervous energy that has led me to create two Facebook albums (well, one and designs on another as we speak), wash the mountain of dishes in my sink and clean my kitchen table (you haven't seen my kitchen table) after I just got back from watching Dark Knight in IMAX (sidenote, if you can, go do that. Heath Ledger is amazing).
So sometimes the nervous energy works to my advantage.
I've been pretty good at harvesting it thus far. It's why people consider me, I suppose, motivated and upwardly mobile. Because I use the energy most use to get mad to do something. It worked in school, where it just motivated me to study hard. Sometimes it had side effects. In college, in the midst of the Hampton hoopla, I developed a slight eye twitch during the most stressful time. It went away, but that tick showed me that maybe having all this energy pent up inside just to remain calm on the outside isn't worth it.
How quickly we forget the lessons of our youth.
I'm older now. Like to think I'm wiser. But I know that I'm not. I still hold that anger in a lot of times. Choosing to swallow it instead of giving someone a piece of my mind or bursting into an expletive laced tirade. So I'll keep quiet and go arrange a bookshelf in the middle of an argument. Or fold clothes. Or do my taxes.
Not very productive.
Sigh. I feel like I had a place to go with this, but alas, I'm slightly drugged up on that 'tussin for this nagging cough I've been trying to shake for the last week. At least the drugs let me go to sleep semi-cough free. Alright kiddies. Sorry if I wasted yo.ur time. But I had to do something to get rid of this nervous energy.
'Nite
I'm
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