I read four books this quarter. I didn’t even complete half of my goal of ten books. But, you know what I did do?
I hung out with my closest friends. I behaved like I was ten years old. I leaped off boats under a scorching sun and into cool waters. I made juvenile jokes and laughed at them myself. I drank Shiraz and woke up at eleven in the morning with pounding headaches. I drank champagne and woke up at eleven in the morning with pounding headaches. I drank rosé all day. I went to sleep when the sun came up. I forgot sunblock when I went stand-up paddle-boarding and didn’t worry once about crow’s feet. I made my friends laugh and got sore stomach muscles from laughing at their jokes. I skipped the mani and pedi. I spent twenty minutes on my winged eyeliner and eye shadow. I went four consecutive days without checking the news. I wore six-inch heels. I walked barefoot on wet grass and hot sand. I ate authentic Italian food and saw centuries-old art. I spoke in French. I cried. I volunteered. I committed. I swam at midnight. I ran at dawn. I test-drove a Lamborghini. I sailed a boat.
I did all the things you can’t do while you’re reading ten books.
I just spent an hour and a half reviewing makeup on Sephora’s website. Turns out when I’ve had a glass or two (or three) of wine at 2pm in the afternoon, I really like to give my opinion on all the things. If you’re wondering, YSL’s Touche Eclat brightening pen did nothing for my under-eye circles after a night of drinking. Nothing.
Aside from that, I’m having quite a miserable day of unyielding allergy symptoms, and I’m torn on wanting April to pass to get rid of these allergies and wanting to remain in a month in Atlanta that isn’t unbearably hot. I don’t do well with sweltering weather and humidity. It’s bleak for me. But then again, I used to really like winter temperatures, and now I can’t even handle that. If I’m snowboarding or skiing–yes. If I’m minding my own business trying to get to work at 7am–no. Guys–just give me 65 degrees year-round, okay? I think that’s comfortable.
Oh, man. I’ve had so much wine that I don’t even know how I’ve reached the topic of weather. Onward.
At the top of the year, I made a goal to read forty books this year. That’s ten books per quarter. That seems ambitious, right? But that was after I talked myself down from fifty-two books for the year. One book per week. I mean, that’s pretty unrealistic, right? And then I had the argument with myself that I used to churn out book after book when I was ten years old. A book per day or every other day when I was in fifth grade. On summer break. This is how irrational the conversations I have with myself are. Like…I’m holding myself to practices I utilized when I was ten? Maybe I want to make sure I store my Barbies away really neatly, too.
Guys…I don’t have Barbies anymore. I also don’t have unlimited time to read books, though I’d like to! So forty per year is what I believe is a fair but challenging goal. Currently, I’m on my twelfth book: T is for Transformation by Shaun T. I love Shaun T. I wouldn’t say I’m a Stan. But I am a fan. See how good I am with the slang, still? Hashtag: young.
I typically don’t like books about people’s personal accounts of abuse and trauma. I still don’t. To be honest, I kinda skip the parts that are too heavy. I’m a lightweight about those things. I mean, it’s hard enough to deal with my own baggage and not become entirely hardened without reading about someone else’s. I consider this a personality flaw. I should be able to take in others’ life experiences without becoming angry or depressed, I think. Sometimes I’m able to. Other times…I’m working on it.
I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m reading Shaun T’s T is for Transformation, and I’m really inspired by it. I’ll let you know how it goes.
You know what’s weird? How you get really used to autocorrect while texting, and then you write on a blogging platform that doesn’t correct your mistakes. Apologies in advance. Maybe learn from my mistakes and don’t have three glasses of wine at lunch.