As I sit here and drip sweat on my keyboard and previously unstinky “office” chair (and I do use the term “office” very, very lightly), I realize one thing: I am not at rehearsal.

And that makes me happy. Happy because I can sit at home  and watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Happy because I can snuggle Petey (even though I just put that stinky flea juice on the back of her neck). Happy because I can read my stupid obsession of Gossip Girl. Happy because I can shower and not feel bad about it. Happy because I can play Kelly Clarkson on my ukulele. And finally, happy because I can write in my blog without that nagging feeling like I’m not doing something I’m supposed to be (like buying dog food. Oh, snap!).

So, even though I’ve already written too much blabber, I will continue on with a smattering, a dribble, if you will, of thoughts from my exhausted brain.

* Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred makes me want to die sometimes. Mostly beacuse my stomach hates me (and I’m sure there are women out there just like me), and refuses to respond to any kind of workout other than starvation (and even then, it doesn’t). I suppose this is a good thing (mostly so I don’t give up during the first week), but right now, it feels like a bad thing. A very bad thing. July beach trip, here I come!

* Working out at least 4 or 5 times a week makes for weird comments left on other people’s blog posts. Most recently, My Boring Life. . . and you can’t tell me that makes sense. Because it doesn’t.

*  I am in the process of applying to grad school! This means that I still need to write my essay on why this school can do *these specified things* for my education. Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it?

* The play is fun, but it is making me crazy. And mostly crazy exhausted. Cast was supposed to be off book for the music by this past Saturday, but I only got it on Tuesday, so I am crazy behind. And my body hates it, because I don’t get to eat dinner until after 10 (which is very, very, very bad. Just ask Jillian) and makes my stomach do nasty things. I’m still not over it. Oh, and back to the play, because yes, it is fun, but it is killer on my knees. I forgot that the last time I did blocking and stage theater anything, my ACL, MCL, meniscus, fracture wounds didn’t exist yet. Now I’m cracking and popping all over the place. Oh, and people fart. A lot. Post dinner farts are always the worst, especially if they’re from a girl (oh, you know what I mean, you silent but deadly farters out there). I hate you all.

Ok. That’s enough. I’m going to go shower, and stare at the pizza I made to tortue myself, and probably eat a piece any way. Oh, wait, what’s that about my stomach?

I don’t want to hear it.

I love you, so please come back to me even though you may or may not have made it through this post. Miss you!