The first weekend in.................................... (insert ? here).........that I don't have plans, and already I have maxed out on plans.
Girls' Night Out tonight (which is slightly redundant, given that pretty much every weekend is Girls' Night Out, especially when Catalano's fiance is out of town), and then tomorrow I am locking myself up somewhere to churn out some writing. I have been terrible about this- and Stupid took me to task for it. I should have the next great American novel manuscript to her by Monday. I kid. I might draft a short story, or at the very least sit and stare at the screen for six hours like any normal tortured writer. And attempting to start The Artist's Way. It's completely intimidating (Write? For an HOUR? A DAY? EVERYDAY?) but I have no more excuses not to be flexing any creative muscle now that the marathon relay is well behind me.
However- if I do manage to make some creative headway, I am to be rewarded by going to see Due Date on Saturday night with Catalano.
Random note: Lee and I had an extensive conversation last weekend about the discouraging growth of one's thighs when training. You lose all this weight, it all becomes muscle, and then in the blink of an eye- you've got thighs like Lance Armstrong or, in my case- one of my biggest fears-a Williams sister. So you're uber healthy and can run crazy mileage and your resting heart rate is at a delightful low, but you've got killer thighs and your pants don't fit properly anymore. The non-fitting of pants ranks up there with Things That Can Utterly Ruin Your Day. Don't believe me? Dig out a pair of pants a size or two too small and see if you don't border on apoplectic throughout the day.
Sunday- La Roux at Ram's Head with Nickle. I am so excited I can hardly contain myself, but slightly disparaged at the lack of wearable 80's threads in my closet.
Busy, happy little life of mine.