Of months and summers

It has been less than a month since I last wrote, but still far too long.  I get so caught up in everything but writing, I forget to write.  Then I make new friends and read their blogs, and I am incredibly jealous of the poignancy with which they offer up their thoughts.  Or perhaps just of the profundity of those thoughts.

Of course, I'm also appreciative of their beautiful minds and pens and keyboards.  But still.

I think my problem is I'm always waiting for something--always putting something off, and justifying it by establishing some artificial boundary that makes my procrastination seem rational.  I'll do my homework after I watch Stargate.  I'll catch up on reading over the weekend.  I'll eat better when my schedule allows.

So, summer is here.  As of today, or as of Sunday, or at the very latest as of the 18th.

• I'm going to run regularly.
• I'm going to eat real food.
• I'm going to do research.
• I'm going to write beautiful letters to beautiful people, starting with Tucker.
• I'm going to take naps in the grass.
• I'm going to do yoga.  Even if it's bad yoga.

We'll start with that.