Day 12. 172 days to go.

Who in their right mind books a dental appointment for 7AM on a Monday? Well, no one. Which is why it was available and I just booked the appointment anyway. The funny part: I’ve done this before. 7AM on a Monday. And I swore I wouldn’t do it again. I mean dental appointments are awful. You’re wearing sunglasses, laying on your back with your head in an uncomfortable pillow, there’s a vacuum in your mouth along with a hose, spraying water everywhere while they take a pick-axe to your teeth. They ask questions like you can answer, pretend to understand you when you try to answer, and all the while you’re bleeding to death with John Mayer playing in the background. You’re hair gets messy, their hands are on your face and you can’t eat or drink for days after the fluoride. I waited 10 minutes this time before eating. My entire life I waited the 1-4 hours that they told me to wait. But not today. I’m an adult. I needed coffee and a muffin. They had a Macrina bakery next door. What the heck was I suppose to do? Just say no? That would be absolutely ridiculous.

No, I didn’t enjoy today. I was tired from a night of trying to figure out the point of life. I think it’s partly an INFJ thing to need to know the freakin’ deep purpose of everything-I gotta know “why”. Why are we doing this. Why are we here. Why is this important. Why. To what end. It’s exhausting. And I will never have a fidgit spinner because I can’t wrap my mind around it having any worth or value. Unless of course someone gives it to me as a gift. Then I will keep it. Because of you. Because I love you. And that would be the only reason I keep it. So don’t give me one. Because I’ll be mad at you and wrestle with trying to tell you I don’t like it and I had to throw it away but it had nothing to do with you and it’s my fault. Oh man.

I did Yoga with Adriene after work (on YouTube). Day 8 on Day 12. She was great. I sure missed her!

Dinner with W. Pagliacci Pizza. We caught up on all things important. We talked about identity and motherhood (since she’s pregnant) and boys and adventures and pressure cookers. You know, typical girl talk.

She still hasn’t thought of a name for her son. I told her I would think up some names. She doesn’t want anything common. Hmmm. I told her less people are naming their sons Michael these days. We could call him Mike. She didn’t really go for it.

Thaddeus, Hugh, Anders, Darryl, Lloyd, Flynn, Hendrix are all great names. Well, names at least.

 

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