Hills

Some dread going on the freeway. Who wants to be in the midst of gridlock traffic, or conversely, that guy who just won't quit tailgating? I am jubilant at the thought of getting on the freeway because of something completely unrelated to driving. While other people are focusing on trivialities like paying attention to the road, I am taking in the expansive beauty of the hills on both sides of the freeway. I am so fortunate to see this inspiring and magnificent view, yet I am saddened by the fact that these hills are, by and large, private property. I've dreamt of walking among the hills, laying down, and absorbing their perfection. I love when the sun hits the hills when they're green. It livens their dimensions with patches of light and shadow, making my view more vivid. I'm also spellbound by the blackness of the hills at night. I could wander the undulating terrain and never feel lost; I could fall asleep in the peace of darkness and not feel afraid.

An old cement factory sits atop a hill near my house. I've always wanted to explore that hill, and I even wrote a letter to its owner when I was a little girl. He rejected my request. Now I'm limited to roaming the hills in my mind while I'm driving down the freeway.

The Cloud and An Exercise Revelation

What is better than listening to countless George Michael songs in a row? Though some of you may say,"Jessica, there is nothing worse than listening to that bathroom bandit!", I assure you, this is not a trick question. Singing along to George Michael's songs is better than listening to him. I believe that my love of singing emerged when I was in pre-school. My mother said that I would worry the teacher by wandering off and singing to myself. Then I started singing while I was in the bathroom (I reluctantly stopped this after awhile). Now my main outlet for singing is karaoke, and I couldn't be more happy with the venue: Cloud 9. The bar probably violates most building codes and once a creepy patron almost touched my hair when my back was turned. However, there is an indescribable charm in the air--once one gets past all the polluting cigarette smoke! I invite you, gentle readers and future karaoke singers, to join me one day.

Today I went over to my friend Ashley's house and winced through about twenty minutes-worth of Total Gym exercises. This was no leisurely task, and I had to replace strength with effort. I have very little upper-body strength, and this has been the case as far back as I can remember. A notable elementary school example of this is the time I failed to do a single pull-up for a physical fitness test. Instead, the P.E. teacher told me that I could just hang from the bar for as long as possible. I lasted for eleven seconds. Anyway, I'm going to try to get these noodley arms into shape. Is anyone up for routine games of tennis or arm wrestling?

Focusing on progress in the exercise realm, I thought I'd share a nervous discovery: exercising a few times a week doesn't put a caloric dent in the weight of a person who eats like a wooly mammoth on an appetite enhancer. The scale will be my honest, tactless friend for the next few weeks, judging for itself whether I can improve my health (and stop eating unsafe amounts of girl scout cookies)! I am, of course, interested in improving my appearance, but I am mainly concerned with my cholesterol. The last time it was checked, I had a score of 260. Therefore, to prevent the possibility of being medicated like a red meat-eating sixty year-old, I need to make lifestyle changes. :)

We shall reconvene tomorrow, friends.