Guys. This whole blog thing, I suck at it. When I am not an angst-ridden high school student, I suppose I must place less value on my thoughts and daily experiences. The idea of keeping a fashion blog died out fairly quickly. The concept of morphing my outfit blog into a kind-of fashion/mylife blog lasted maybe two weeks. So, screw it. I don't even know what I am doing any more. But have a post. Not a manifesto, or new blog mission. Because we all know I'd abandon it. If you take one thing away from this post (and that includes Future Me who might be reading this after I don't post again for multiple months), it should be this: salami and gouda on a baguette with a tiny bit of mustard is just really delicious. Are any of those ingredients imbibed with even the remotest amount of nutritional value? Don't care. Have begun to care less about this. Because honestly, what's the point? Each time I try to throw myself onto some kind of a diet and exercise regimen, nothing happens. But during the three months this past spring that I never went to the gym and ate an abundance of peanut butter and bread and macaroni and cheese, I lost something like 8 pounds. So I say to you: it is all so bloody arbitrary, that I am going to just eat what I like and work out on a vaguely regular basis out of desire and not guilt. And pretend that I'm training for the Avengers. With Steve cheering me on.
The problem with summer has always been that I devise these ambitious plans for productivity, and that I ultimately do little other than eat out and read fanfiction. For example, I packed an entire box full of books into my car to bring down to Austin for the summer. I intend[ed?] to read my way through a long list of Victorian novels and a frankly absurd amount of nonfiction books from the library about affect, the sensation novel, and random bits of Victorian culture that piqued my curiosity (read: Victorian honeymoons). Since my arrival in Austin over a week ago, I have read about one hundred pages of Basil by Wilkie Collins. At this rate, I'll be lucky to read one novel by Eliot, Hardy, and Dickens apiece. So I am going to have to make some kind of a plan. Otherwise, I am going to spend my days lusting over recipes that I could not possibly actually make in R's tiny kitchen with literally no counter space, and only one rickety card table to use for chopping ingredients. And scrolling down Tumblr ever few hours, pinning every other fan rendition of Sherlock and John Watson together to my Pinterest:
(Okay, but, Sherlock and John Watson, guys...) (And... I just spend 45 minutes choosing the Sherlock image I wanted to include here. I got side-tracked by Tumblr. And I decided I wanted to learn how to draw comics on my computer. And I looked up how much Photoshop costs. WHICH brought me back to reality, and here I am to finish my blog post--do you see now why this is such a problem?) Right. So-plan. I need one. I need to read, write letters, jog, cook, and spend very little money. How hard can that be? I mean, right? So here goes. Well, sort of. I'm at Book People and I somehow forgot to bring a pen/pencil, so I can't write any letters. And I finished the book I brought with me! So all I have is the Internet. OKAY fine, I'll go hunt through the fiction and start reading something in a squishy armchair for an hour that I can pick up at the library later. Watch me go be productive. Just you watch.