I am going to eat jalapeno-stuffed olives right now and it is far too late to do that but I'm hungry and I can't sleep when I'm hungry but it'll probably make me sick.
I watched the Caps win while I was on the treadmill at the gym tonight and I felt rather self-important when a man came over and asked me what channel number it was and I knew. And then I felt like a real dork when they scored and I clapped and made some sort of exclaiming noise like I wasn't in a room full of 25 people. It was just a sweet goal.
I've stopped at 7-11 twice in the past two nights because did I mention I'm going to the gym again and I've done 90 minutes of cardio both times in an attempt to get things going back in the right direction, and I know this is what works for me when my metabolism needs a jolt. I'm feeling exceptionally dehydrated from this however and like I need to stop for water on the way home, like the Beltway is the Sahara and I'm about to drive my camel onto the ramp and I need provisions.
Anyway, I still feel like I'm stopping at 7-11 to buy cigarettes, because that is what going there means to me, apparently. I would be really shocked if I ever buy them again (and please, let this not happen, because as much as I would smoke my face off right this minute if I could, I need not to do that much, much more) but that's what I feel like I'm going there to do.
I don't think that makes sense. What I think I'm trying to say is that today made me want to smoke and so did 7-11, and I somehow expect people to care about this.
I had to have a conflict-laden sort of conversation and that makes me want to smoke. And drink. And cry. I dislike it. I have opinions out the ass and I will happily share them with you (although I really will try to make sure you have some interest in them first) but that's different from wanting to argue or bicker with you, because generally speaking I don't want to do that.
Unless, like on Saturday, you punch someone on a Metro train in front of me, someone in your apparent group of friends, so hard that he bleeds. And at that point I've had just enough liquid courage to get up off of my ass and stand in the open doorway of the Metro train and demand that you GET OFF THE FUCKING TRAIN (that's what I said, sorry) and expect you to obey me.
And of course you don't, so I have to get off the train or get stuck in the door and then go up to the booth to report this altercation with a short Latino man with a backpack close at my heels, more traumatized apparently than I was by the situation and looking at me in some form of dazed admiration because I appeared as though I was going to kill this jarhead idiot who punched his friend on the train. You know, with my MIND.
These are the times when I wonder who has stolen my life and put this in its place.
These are also times when I do conflict. And also lose my wallet in the process, a wallet they informed me was found today, due to Metro's neato online lost and found application and my amazing powers of depressed hungover internet research. I really can't believe I had the presence of mind to look it up, actually, and I'm so happy that I don't have to go to the MVA for a replacement license, so happy, in fact, that I Tweeted at Metro to thank them.
I changed the subject, apparently. Just as well.
On Friday it will be four years since I started posting on Flickr. Four years. I am graduating from Flickr University (although to be true to form, it would have to take me like another year and a half, for undergrad anyway.) When I think of my favorite shots, these guys still come to mind first. I think I love my whole Vietnam set the best, actually, while still considering it the most wasted opportunity to share images of a country where most journalists don't ever get to go, not on duty anyway.
I still can't believe I was there.
And finally, really? THis is some pre-Thanksgiving madness, I'm serious.
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