After fifteen minutes on the exercise bike, my blood pressure is down from this morning, while my pulse rate is up. Go figure.
I am now at a weight I like. There are other weights I like, but this one will do for a while: it allows me to wear one of my favorite summer dresses. Not a major change, probably not really visible to anyone save Soren and me, but it pleases me that I've done this.
Continuing to improve the muscle tone, and cardio status -- good things.
On the other hand, the summer dress is very lightweight, purchased for horrid humid New York City summers; we've had -- what? -- perhaps three days above ninety degrees here in Seattle, and this week is in the sixties and seventies. Can't win for losin', as they say.
Jane is well enough to be gathering apples from the roof (the tree drops them regularly); we may sit and core apples for applesauce this weekend, as most of them are not suitable for eating. (When she's on the roof, I keep my ears peeled for strange sounds.)
Boundaries. Conversations about them in just about every community I'm in, online and off, over the past six weeks or so. Some of the conversations are hard, but all of them are useful -- even the ones in which I discover that someone I had thought viewed the world the same way I do is actually on another planet.
When I go to the Center for Sex Positive Culture, I almost always ask my friends and acquaintances, "Are you huggable today?" Many of them seem to think it weird, but I'd rather be weird in that way than be intrusive. (A few of them have said, "Unless I say otherwise, I'm always huggable by you," which is lovely, and the sort of communication I'm going for.)
Friends who listen to me when I talk about my boundaries, honor them, and check in to make sure that we're all comfortable are lovely.
Acquaintances who hug without asking, and then let their hands slide over my ass, by contrast, are not lovely, and are not likely to become anything other than acquaintances.
I am considering going out dancing tonight.
We will have a four-year-old boy staying with us for a while, I think. The not-even-inconvenience of having to remember to put on clothing whenever I'm outside of the bedroom will be more than compensated for by the sheer fun of watching Jane and the kid carouse.
When I am out late and goofy, I buy ice cream four out of five times that I go to the store. Three pints of ice cream followed me home last night. (Jane and Soren nobly endure this idiosyncrasy of mine, particularly because I always get at least one flavor for them.)
I am still stunned by Bill Brent's death; even though I only met him once or twice, I liked him, and always hoped that I could submit a story to him one day. Damn, damn, damn.
Message from He Who Must Be Adored: "My water glass isn't going to refill itself, Monkey." It's amazing how explicit a long yellow-eyed stare can be.
