I hate almost all memes, unless they require you to actually be creative. Quizzes explaining which member of the Monkees you are (or any sort of similar silliness) set my teeth on edge.
I learned how to read when I was 2 1/2 years old, and that was the beginning of the end, so to speak. I used to take three books in the car with me when we would drive to church—all of one mile away.
I have become fairly obsessed with Goodreads.com, which lets you log books you’ve read, are reading, or planning to read. I’ve decided to try and enter into my personal database all the books I own, which is a bit daunting (to put it mildly). So far I’ve almost finished two bookshelves. My “to-read” shelf is already depressingly large.
I’ve actually forbidden myself from buying books that I can get from the library these days. This has cut back the influx greatly.
As much as I dislike winter, I think I would miss the seasons were I to move somewhere sunny and warm year round.
Last year I made a concerted effort to cut all high fructose corn syrup out of my house. It was surprisingly easy. That said, I forgot to check the last time I was at the grocery store and an impulse buy of some yogurt resulted in me purchasing some. Oops. I need to get better about checking for it.
If you’d told me ten years ago that I would run even one marathon, I’d have laughed in your face.
As much as I enjoy exercising, about a third of the time I actually find it very hard to get the motivation to actually do so. This is especially true in the winter months, which is partially why this is the first year I’ve ever trained for a spring marathon.
I enjoy cooking but I go through phases where I will do very little cooking. I prefer to cook for more than just myself, which is part of the problem. Still, thanks to my plastic containers to save for later, that’s not as much as an issue as it could be.
Half of the reason why I signed up for a Community-Supported Agriculture half-share this year is to force myself to actually cook on a daily basis, and to break out the cookbooks just waiting to be used.
Part of me wants to get back into writing fiction, but I’m afraid of what I’d have to give up right now in order to have that extra time in my day. As it is right now there are many leisure activities which have already fallen by the wayside.
I continually feel guilty about not spending enough time with my friends, many of whom I only see a few times a year. I also worry that my friends will leave me behind.
Every time the idea of having children is brought up, my first thought is, “I can’t possibly be old enough to have children.” When it’s pointed out that at my age my mom had three kids and one of them was already a teenager, I am amazed. That then follows up by the thought that I don’t think I should be trusted with having a kid just yet.
I used to have a really bad (almost obsessive-compulsive) completist streak. I like to think I’ve actually gotten a lot better about it. I suspect the reality is that I’ve just given it a much tighter focus instead of applying to so many different possessions.
Doctor Who will probably always be my favorite television program of all time. I suspect my parents still slightly rue the day they bought me a Doctor Who book as a gift, which is what started me down this path.
The images in my head and what my camera actually takes very rarely intersect. The few times they do, though, have brought me a supreme joy.
I hang up all my t-shirts in my closet, sorted by color and arranged by the rainbow spectrum.
I am horrible at movie quote quizzes. Even if I’ve seen the movie a dozen times, I will probably not remember the line until the source is pointed out to me.
I cannot draw anything worthwhile to save my life. Even my stick figures are malformed.
I get genuinely upset if a plant I am taking care of gets sick or dies. Which is probably why pets and/or children are just right out of the question for now. Just imagine if I had something to take care of that could actually make noise.
It’s been four years since I dropped a lot of weight and my body has still not adjusted to the loss of all that internal insulation. I finally had to start wearing sweaters and undershirts again in the colder months to keep from freezing to death.
If I had to start all over again with college and a career, I think I’d want to be a psychologist.
I find it almost impossible to look at someone the entire time I am talking to them, or they’re talking to me. I will still be paying attention to them, but that amount of focus requires conscious and deliberate effort.
I knew I had “become an adult” about two years ago when I bought a new vacuum cleaner and was genuinely excited about doing so.
I can honestly say that I am right now at the happiest point of my life.