Fifteen minutes of free-writing.

That's what I decided last night I'd start doing daily, as a form of meditation.  Forgive me if I ramble.  I mean, I do that anyhow, so you should be used to it by now, but this may end up being one giant run-on sentence.  Probably not, because I love punctuation marks.  I keep stopping to watch TV.  There's some show called Hot In Cleveland on; and I watch entirely too much television.

Jimi says he can take a frozen chicken breast filet and put it in a 400 degree oven in a pre-heated panini pan and that it will cook evenly and deliciously.  I'm trusting him because he typically is a culinary genius, but I have serious doubts about this particular plan.  Everything I know about cooking tells me you have to thaw chicken before you cook it.  Maybe I'm wrong.  We shall see.

I want a cigarette something fierce.  Three and a half weeks.  Whoa.  That's like forever.  I'd love to stand outside on the front porch, freezing my ass off and shivering, sucking in lungfuls of that dry white smoke, holding it, then exhaling as the nicotine buzz rushes through my head.  Feeling dizzy.  Tasting that yuck.  Coughing.  Another puff, and another, until it's gone, then throwing it down in the snow and coming inside, instantly self-concious about the stink surrounding me.  I like to smell good.  It's only recently, like in the last year or so, that I've started to smell/notice/realize the odor that lingers around a smoker, especially when coming in from the cold outside.  Truck drivers stand in the window of my office and I can smell them from behind my desk; the sharp stench of recently burned Pall Malls and Kools.  And it lingers.  And I ask my boss "Did I used to smell like that?" and I'm mortified at the idea, though he swears I never did.

I don't know if I've ever kept up a habit that's this good for me for this long.  And if I walk tonight, I'll have kept up the 20-minutes-of-exercise-every-day thing for a full week.  Who is this new Natalie who sticks to goals and shit?  I'm not sure we've met.

The snow was just finally all gone from our yard, and then again this morning there was more, making the roads slick and the schools closed and the world a little softer on the edges through the lens of a Honda Civic windshield.  I love the snow.  I get why other people dislike it, but I love it, and I can't make myself feel bad for that.  At work this afternoon, I suggested that we have a plant-wide snowball fight the next time we get a few inches; most people poo-poo'd my idea, saying they hate the snow, and I think one guy suggested that if they all hit me with snow balls at the same time i'd fall down and they could have sexy time with me.  I tried to pretend that part of the conversation didn't happen, and so did the other guys in the room.

I didn't set a timer so I have no idea how long I've been writing.  I keep getting up to get another drink or to play with the dog or to pee.  Tonight it's Smirnoff Blueberry Lemonade and Red Stripe Jamaican Lager.  Jimi loves the lemonades, much to the surprise of us both.  Lance just called him - I'm going to end up ordering pizza for dinner.  He'll be on the phone with Lance for an hour, and then he's got to call Steve, and then his brother.  I kinda want pizza anyhow.  God, I love pizza.

I was in the zone there for a minute, and then I lost it.  I started listening to Jimi's conversation and all writing thoughts went right out of my head.  But here I am.  Still at it; still plucking away.

I'm trying to write my way out of writer's block, is what I'm doing.  I'm giving myself permission to write bullshit and post it because I just need to be writing; the best way to write is to write, right?  Maybe something will come of it; maybe I'll stumble upon something worth writing about in my random ramblings.  Maybe not.  I'm giving myself permission to not care, so long as I'm making words into sentences and thoughts into words.

I made a new page on my blog, the "Today I'm Grateful For..." page.  And you know what?  It's hard as fuck to not just list "jimi jimi jimi jimi jimi" every day.  He's like my sun.  I recognize that this is not necessarily healthy, but it's probably pretty normal for a woman in love, and even if it's not, I don't care because it is what it is and I can't help it and he loves me back the same so it's totally fine.  Oh, and I put a thing over there on the right where you can follow my blog on Facebook.  I promise when I get to 50 Facebook Followers, I'll stop posting links to my shit on Facebook.  So follow me and stuff.  Because you know you want to read more of this.

And he's off the phone and we've got to figure out dinner so I'll be back to ramble at you fine folks again tomorrow, same Nat-time, same boring Nat-place.  Happy Hump Day! (Night)!