YO YO YO.
I’m blogging the night before my usual post-time because tomorrow’s gonna be busy.
I want to tell you a brief summary of my weekend — not because I’m expecting you to care or find it interesting, but because this blog helps keep me accountable just as much as it helps you pass time at work or whatever, and so. Anyway. Without further ado…
This weekend, Chelsea took me to Albany for two things: 1) to see DAR WILLIAMS (my very favorite musician) in concert and 2) to visit Austerlitz/Steepletop, the home of my very favorite poet.
The concert was incredible — and we got to talk to Dar for awhile afterwards, which was just the best. She always makes time to come out and greet her fans after the show and we were the last in line, so we got a little extra chatting time. 🙂 She and I talked about teaching at the university level, and she told me SHE thinks I deserve tenure already, despite being very far from finishing my degree. Definitely putting that on the resume. Or tattooing it on my skin. Yanno. Either/or. It was an absolutely splendid night.
Steepletop was really emotional for me; I love Edna St. Vincent Millay and I have since I was a child. I don’t mind explaining, even though you’ll probably find it creepy, that ever since I was a little kid, I felt as though I knew Edie. How? Because I missed her so much. I missed her like she had died on me. I missed her all the time and reading her poems just felt safer than anything in the world to me, and all my life I’ve loved her. I used to write an entire blog devoted to my writing letters to her in the form of poems. We’re talking heavy-duty affinity here, folks. And in all my life, though I’ve wanted to go for nearly 15 years, I’ve never been to Steepletop, where she lived and died. Until this Saturday. And it was perfect, and silent, and we totally trespassed onto the property because it’s closed in winter, and surrounded in blankets and blankets and blankets of snow and only the sound of birds, I saw where my Edie died. I saw where she planted her famous gardens. I saw her grave. I saw her writing cabin. And we were in the middle of the forest — truly — you would NEVER find this place if you didn’t know where you were looking — and everything was just… everything. It was a precious stolen moment that I will remember forever. If you’re wondering — yes, I cried. Thanks, Chelsea, for giving me that experience.
AND NOW, reader, you’re wondering — DAYS AND DAYS OUT OF TOWN? WHAT DID SHE EAT? IS SHE FATTER NOW?
Well, I’ll tell you. Friday I was a very good girl except for dinner, which was Indian food (one of my favorites) and I ate whatever I wanted. Saturday, I was good at breakfast. At lunch at this weird but wonderful little diner near Austerlitz, I had salad with some falafel balls on top. For dinner, we went to Bohemian Moon in Norwich (my favorite restaurant in existence) and I had chicken katsu and some crazy pastry thing for dessert. In short, for the most part, I ate whatever I wanted. However, I did make sure to eat snap peas, kale and protein each day. Nutrients, maneeee.
And, as per the universe’s agreement with my body as long as I work out, do my WW hustle, and try hard: when I arrived back in Vestal and weighed in, I HADN’T GAINED AN OUNCE.
Lesson being: If you’re giving your body all the nutrients it needs, it won’t need to hold on to bad, unhealthy food. It won’t be mad at you if you have a treat day (provided that those days aren’t often). You can have a weekend of folk music, Indian food, crying at Steepletop and CHICKEN KATSU (foreverforeverforeverforever) and still weigh in just fine. When your body gets what it needs, it doesn’t try to desperately hoard stuff that it doesn’t require.
Kind of like real-life hoarders — if you’re stable/keep things stable, there’s no need for that desperate possession.
Oh lord. Tell me I’m writing about hoarders.
Time to go finish my weird dinner.
And watch SVU.
LIKE A BOSS.
Mariska, girl, I’m on my way —