A few years ago, I unearthed a travel journal from a month-long trip to Europe that I took in 2006. As I reviewed its pages, I was struck by just how many details of the trip I had completely forgotten. And if the memories of a once-in-a lifetime trip that was so impactful to me could fade away – how much of my day-to-day life is lost? Sensations, emotions, achievements, losses, experiences from the mundane to the exceptional, all transforming from that specific moment in time to become that day, that week, that year, that life…

As I get older and gain a better understanding of how fragile, how brief, and how precious life really is, it's become even more important to me to me experience it to its fullest and to try to retain all of those little moments that might otherwise get lost. It's with this idea that I started the process of recording these moments – a travel journal, of sorts.

A travel journal for life.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


I'm all for some good, old-fashioned self-pity.  I think it's o.k., therapeutic even, to wallow for a couple of hours or even the occasional day or two.  But I think that I may have crossed a line here. Today marks the two-week anniversary of the epic pity-party that I've been holding for myself.

A couple of weeks ago, I was playing tennis and tore my calf muscle. It made me really mad - Mad because I'm in pain.  Mad because I don't get to do the active things that I like to do for at least two solid weeks (doctor's orders). Really mad because this injury makes me feel old. Really really mad because it was likely a preventable injury - if only I had stretched and warmed up like old ladies should...

A couple of days after the injury, before I was even off of my crutch (I only used one, because crutches plural, are hard, yo.) Mike had to leave for some stupid hoorah military training important leadership training that requires him to be away for 16 days. 16 daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaysssssssssss...

I always miss my Michael when he goes away, but I'm extra sad this time because I have been doing nothing but going to work and coming directly home to lay about with my old-lady leg propped up.  I'm lonely. I'm grumpy.  I need to pull it together.  Especially since I'm walking around freely now, even (cautiously) up and down steps, and Mike will be home next weekend.
Sad picture of Mike's hats that I took while laying in bed. Probably eating Cheetos or pickle sammiches.

The DVR is empty and I've reached the end of the interwebs.  I think it's time to throw away all the take-out containers, toss my robe and slippers into the washer, fluff the ass-crater out of my couch cushion, do some stretches and call an end to my two-week long pity party.

Ahhh...  I'm looking forward to real life again.

Know who doesn't mind pity-parties? Naps and snacks??  Sign her up!

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