ouch (and yay)

I've already mentioned that I've had to take an extended, infuriating, grump-inducing hiatus from running. I've been going to physical therapy and doing exercises to get my knee back up to snuff. The decline of fitness has been inevitable, though.

Over the weekend, I decided to put a toe back in the shallow end of running. As much as I don't want the progress I've made to be destroyed by overuse too soon, I'm also wary of being too inactive by way of paranoia. If I don't get back to training, I'll never get back to my former capacity (such as it was). So I ran, a very little bit. Very little. I did six minutes total, broken into three two-minute segments, separated by walking. I didn't listen to music, lest I be tempted to keep going through a particularly high energy song. And I didn't push myself with speed or hills.

It was lovely. But now I really, really hurt.

too many options = overwhelming

So I'm about halfway through that massive, super-secret knitting project at this point, and I have plenty of time to do the second half. (Remind me I said that when I'm clamoring to meet my deadline later, ok?)

Anyway, I feel like I can take a break and choose a new project for a bit of a change of pace. Which is great, except... I'm paralyzed with indecision as to what I should make. I have two types of new yarn calling out to me, a sweater's worth of yarn I just reclaimed from an ill-fitting jacket I made last year, and about three still-intact sweaters that I don't wear, never will wear, and need to rip out.

That gives me maybe five or six types of yarn I could potentially use. For each type of yarn, there are seemingly limitless (thanks, Ravelry) patterns that would be fun to try. I'm not a math person, but I suspect the resulting number of options has something to do with the word "factorial." I'm fully overwhelmed by the possibilities.

Maybe I should list out all my favorites and choose via blindfolded dart-throwing (or finger-pointing, to be safe). Maybe I'll let Mr. Terrific decide. Maybe I'll hold off on starting a new sweater and tackle other pressing issues instead. No, who am I kidding, that last one is foolishness.

Impatient much?

I had a dream last night, most of which I don't remember. I do know, though, that it included -- and I remember this part vividly -- me looking out a window and noticing that our daffodils were in bloom.

Apparently all the talking and thinking I've done lately about this year's garden has permeated the entirety of my brain. The only remotely related thing I've actually done this year is set up a batch of microgreens that should be ready in a few weeks. Seeing as how that currently just looks like a bunch of dirt and lettuce seeds in the cut-off bottom of an empty milk jug, I think my subconscious made the right choice in dreaming about still non-existent flowers.

We're supposed to get some snow this week, so for now I'll have to be content with planning and scheming some more.

Maybe it *is* stranger than fiction

I've fluctuated a lot in the amount of non-required reading I do. I was a huge reader as a kid (not a big surprise, I was that kid who stayed inside with the books rather than refining any sense of hand-eye coordination), but since then I've sort of petered out with it. There was a short window of time in maybe 2003 when I was single and bored and felt like I *should* read lots of important literary works, but that phase died a spectacular death when I went to law school and spent several years avoiding any and every page of text I wasn't academically required to read.

I've been reading books again, though (the scars from law school have apparently healed), and I've been surprising myself by reading, and looking forward to reading, works of nonfiction.

Right now I'm reading One Perfect Day: The Selling of the American Wedding, by Rebecca Mead. It's timely for me, fascinating, and a wonderfully snarky reminder to not let myself get to the place where I would consider spending half of my annual salary on a one-day celebration.

Next on the list is a book I can't wait to read: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot. I heard about it by chance when I was listening to NPR in my car and the author was interviewed on Fresh Air. She spoke with so much enthusiasm and emotion about the process of researching the book (over ten years!) and how strongly she felt she needed to communicate the story she found to the rest of the world, I was hooked. Apparently, a lot of NPR-listening, library-card-carrying folks in my town had the same thought. 15 people had beaten me to the punch in requesting the handful of available library copies. Enter Senor Stupendous to the rescue, though: he bought me a copy for Valentine's Day! I can start reading about medical ethics and socioeconomic injustice whenever I finish reading about the evolution of social norms surrounding nuptial spending!

He knows me very well, that man. If you'd asked me even a few months ago, I would've said I only read novels. Apparently he knows me better than I (used to) know myself.

Three weeks: that's about right.

Pretty much every time I've ever gotten my hair cut, it takes me a few weeks to get used to it -- to figure it out, and know how to make it look ok, and generally like the result. When I walk out of a salon, I usually feel great, but then there's always a few weeks of settling in until I feel thoroughly confident wielding my own hairbrush.

True to form, my hair feels cute today. Which is good, because it's been a pretty boring three weeks of wearing it pulled back!

report from the salt mines

Just a quick, purposely vague update on the new work setting. My days are busy and intellectually stimulating and challenging and awesome! I was talking to Mr. Wonderful yesterday about how this is an entirely new thing for me. I may have stumbled upon a job I actually enjoy. I didn't know such a thing could even exist.

Hooray! (Also, who knows whether this will still be my opinion however many months into the future. I figure I should probably appreciate it while I can.)

At last, a photo

Pretty, huh? (And yes, I know, the photo is tiny. That's what I get for trying to figure out how to get my phone to talk to my computer when I should be heading out the door for work. Well, I tried.) They're the snowshoes I bought over the weekend. I'm excited to use them, but right now we're seeing uncharacteristically large expanses of grass, and snowshoeing will have to wait. This might be the first time all year that I'm disappointed to hear we'll only be getting a dusting of snow when the next storm hits us. Mind you, I still don't want to shovel our driveway or careen down slippery roads, but wandering around some snow-covered forest-y or meadow-y areas would be fun.

So, skier friends, for the timebeing, I'm with you. Bring on the blizzards!