In my quest to not be an immobile vessel of butterfat and negative feelings, I’ve been reading self-help books. Not the types that offer hollow solutions, but the kinds wise enough to recognize that people who seek out self-help books don’t really want help, just confirmation that they never needed help in the first place.
And if there’s something I can get behind, it’s undeserved validation. Which is why I’m halfway through Life Is a Verb – a book that encourages readers to live intentionally through reminders that death clutches to the collective undercarriage of our lives along with exercises that involve dancing kind of like Paula Abdul after too many Klonopin then writing about how it makes you feel. According to my answer to the prompt, my dance made me feel, “kicking legs maybe.”
Luckily, the book is a bit more articulate and while I don’t expect it to eliminate the days where I wish I could crawl inside my mattress, sometimes I’m reminded that there’s a whole world above it, waiting for me to tempt the frame beneath it.
And that’s how I, awkwardly, spent most of my Saturday night.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Watch your head!*
*This is as close as I could get to a cutesy one liner. It was difficult not to just type “Damn Girl!” and giggle to myself how amazing these pics are of you.
You need more blog posts that contain images of you jumping with a tight shirt and booty shorts.
Tits and underwears. You just made my lonely night less lonely.
OMG this picture gives my eyes a boner……and OMG your writing gives my brain a boner.
Excited for you to get a paid writing gig someday, and you will. If not we’ll all crowdsource $10K to get a pic of your mammaries and/or drumkit.