It's 10pm on a Saturday night and I'm in the house, in sweat pants on, my face already washed, glasses on. I suppose I could have found something else to do, just elected not to. I'm kind of sorry that I didn't make plans, but part of me feels content to just chill here by myself. I'd better embrace that because it's a fleeting feeling.
I was supposed to go to a wedding today. One of my friends from high school that I also went to college with married her very first boyfriend, her very first everything, that we met our freshmen year of college. I thought it was cool that they invited me since I haven't talked to either of them in about 4 years. I decided it would be fun to go and catch up with everyone, so I rsvp'd and said I'd be there. But I got on the interstate today and my car started makin this crazy sound as soon as I hit 70mph. Nope. Not me, not today (I love Russy on Run's House). I turned around and went back home. I'll send my gift next week or something. I spent the afternoon with another friend instead. We went to Olive Garden (whole wheat linguine isn't THAT bad, even though there's nothing like pasta made from white flour) and then this specialty cupcake shop. It was delicious. After that, we couldn't settle on anything to do, so we just rolled around the central part of the city, north of downtown. She brought me home and I've just been sittin on my ass the rest of the evening. Reading the news and whatnot.
My mom and my girlfriend are a little scared and worried by my obsession with murder. I love reading murder books and finding out all the information I can about serial killers and certain cases. This weekend is the 40th anniversary of the Manson murders, and TIME did a whole spread about it. Speaking more about my fascination with murder, Shanee thinks I'm absolutely crazy for once having made the statement, "My favorite murder is the Martha Moxley case." She thought it was disgusting that a person would even have something like a favorite murder. Sorry, I just do. Her and my mother both are a little concerned about sleeping in the same house as me. A few years ago when my family traveled to Wisconsin to visit family, I made everyone stop at Jeffrey Dahmer's old house where he did all his psychotic activities. There's a huge fence around it and I hopped it and made my cousin take pictures of me inside it, clinging to the inside of the fence, as if I was trying to escape. Maybe it is a tad bit unhealthy...lol
Speaking of health though, my ass can officially run a mile. I bit through the pain and pressed it out. And I'm happy to have reached a point where I'm not even in pain afterward! I got a manicure and pedicure this morning and when the little China girl was massaging my lower legs, it hurt while she was doing it, but when I was done it felt better than I thought it should, which lets me know that my muscles definitely stood to benefit from the little rubdown. I've got some professional massages lined up for the near future and I'm pumped about 'em.
Studies have shown that the human mind is way more relaxed and whatnot when the space around them is clean and free of clutter. I went through my apartment yesterday morning and straightened up, then did some deep cleaning...like, used the attachments on my vacuum sweeper. It was completely worth it. I think I even slept better, falling asleep without a mound of clothes looking at me or a million pieces of paper all over every surface. I woke up feeling happy, not thinking to myself "damn erika, there's a lot of shit in here." It's pleasant walking into my apartment from being gone and seeing my shoes lined up in a row by the door and the rest of the apartment in order. I think I am going to start making myself really and truly clean every week....give the entire apartment the same attention I give the bathroom (weekly) and the kitchen (daily). Become some kind of neat freak.
I'm growing sleepy...