For most of my adult life, I thought about cosmetic surgery the way I think about haute couture fashion and tiny, expensive sports cars: fun for daydreaming, but completely out of context to my life to seriously consider for myself.
Sure, I stood in front of a mirror, and pinched the fat and lifted the skin to imagine what things would look like if something was pulled here, rearranged there. I researched the surgery, compared before-and-after photos, watched the reality television shows about extreme makeovers, and yeah … I wondered.
But such a thing was too vain. Too expensive. Too extraordinary to realistically consider.
6:05 a.m. –I am definitely not a morning person, but we are up very early for a flight, running away to Berlin for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary and my birthday (later this month), so yeah, I‘m on board with my favorite travel partner.
I can see a few new wrinkles on my face, and more silver in my mane. This month was brutal. I didn’t get in a single run and survived on shit convenience food as my focus zeroed in on my son, then the rest of the family, then work, then school, and then whatever else I needed to stack on top of my own wellbeing.
Question #758: What is the longest book you’ve ever read?
In 2011, I checked out the book Les Miserables from our local library in Northern Virginia, not realizing it’s one of the longest novels in history. I mean, clearly, it’s a big book with 513,000 words on 2,783 pages. But since I enjoyed the musical so much, and knew the plot, I figured it was something I could easily follow and read during my bath time soaks.
We‘re essentially detailing the boys‘ room today, cleaning and disinfecting every corner and surface in preparation for Junior’s return home. Really thankful to have Miss C here to help. She made me breakfast this morning, but didn’t have the heart to wake me up for it.