I finally figured out how podcasts work!
I know. I’m a dinosaur when it comes to this stuff. But it is still thrilling for me. I subscribed to the free podcast for This American Life, which is the only NPR show I cannot listen to while working. I get too caught up in the stories, and I find myself drifting off to the sweet nasal tones of Ira Glass instead of working on my dissertation. Now I listen to the program while I’m at the gym, which has made my workouts a little more bearable. I used to watch Martha Stewart Living, and I’m not ashamed, I tell you. But it did tend to annoy other people in the gym, who usually want to watch more intelligent fare, like CNN.
I’ve been trying very hard to keep going to the gym this semester, and I’ve managed to go every other day. I’ve only missed once. Every once and a while Danny and I will head to Rice on a Sunday and run the perimeter trail, but for the most part I’ve been using the free gym at my apartment complex, which is much nicer now that the lady who spits on the machines moved out.
The disappointing thing about all of this exercise is that my physique has not changed in any way I can discern. And I feel like I’ve been pretty patient. Shouldn’t there be some sort of toning or tightening or shrinking after two months? I’m not particularly trying to lose weight, just get in shape. I’m not someone who gets a high from exercise, so if there are not any noticeable results, it’s really difficult to keep going. This is complicated by the fact that my schedule is getting full. I now work at the Houston Community College Writing Center two mornings per week, and I volunteer one morning a week at Catholic Charities. And now… now… a new season of America’s Next Top Model has begun. And let’s be honest. Tyra-mail is a priority in my life.
In other news, I realized today that I will have to rewrite a few pages of the dissertation chapter I’m currently drafting, because I am definitely wrong. Very wrong, in an embarrassing way. It’s very disheartening, especially since writing those few pages almost killed me. I’m hoping they were so difficult because they were, as aforementioned, oh so wrong, but in any case I’m trying to remember that even hitting the delete button can be considered progress sometimes. And really, how can you get cranky when you’re reading Peter Pan?
HOOK (gripping the stave for support) Who are you, stranger? Speak.
PETER: (who is only too ready to speak) I am Jas Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger.
HOOK: (now white to the gills) No, no, you are not.
PETER: Brimstone and gall, say that again and I’ll cast anchor in you.
HOOK: If you are Hook, come tell me, who am I?
PETER: A codfish, only a codfish.
HOOK: (aghast) A codfish?
SMEE: (drawing back from him) Have we been captained all this time by a codfish?
STARKEY: It’s lowering our pride.