(I wonder if this post will be like The Empire Strikes Back or Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan – the sequel that’s way better than the original.)

I only ended up at reading 29 books during 2010 (total does not include cookbooks or knitting books). And for the third year in a row now, my goal is to read 50 books in 2011. The good news? We’re only three days into the new year and I’ve already completed two books (Wishful Drinking, by Carrie Fisher, and Strawberry Shortcake Murder, by Joanne Fluke). And I’m certainly not at a loss for anything else to read – I’ve got two of Anthony Bourdain’s books (The Nasty Bits from the library, and I bought the updated version of Kitchen Confidential), Law of Nines, by Terry Goodkind, to read on the Overdrive app on my iPod, and tons of still-unread tomes in my personal library. Maybe I’ll return to Dan Brown’s Digital Fortress – I’ve been trying it every so often for years, but maybe this time it will stick, as I’ve really been into anything involving math and philosophy/esoterica and codes and  cryptanalysis lately (see: my devouring of Katherine Neville’s novels).

I went to the gym today (along with half the world, I’m sure). I was hoping to break a 10:30 mile on the elliptical, which I did not do. I broke a 10:15 mile! And thanks to Toby, I found myself seriously considering purchasing a Shake Weight this afternoon (I already have a pink tank top).

And I just had a grocery delivery come, an hour late (some kind of operational difficulties at the warehouse). And while I was putting them away, I whacked my head on the open cupboard door. Hard. OW. Once again, a time when this being/living alone stuff is pure crap.

And, as promised:

Myth #2: Amanda is a slob. Maybe not totally a slob, but definitely far from neat. I was always in trouble for my room and/or bathroom being a mess. Even as an adult living at home, I always cringed every time The Dad would start going off on ” we can’t have anything nice,” or how he could never bring people over because the house was such a mess, and I always felt like it was my fault.

Truth: Part of this started dawning on me when I was in law school. I heard The Dad’s usual complaints while I was on the phone with The Mom and the guilt complex kicked right in. Then I remembered, ‘wait a minute…I don’t live there!‘ And the past few times I’ve been there visiting, the clutter has really started to get to me. Because (and from what I understand, The Dad absolutely refuses to believe this) though maybe I have some clutter here and there (kitchen table and office desk – who doesn’t have clutter in those places?) and my living room rug needs vacuuming, I came home to a very neat, well-kept apartment. It have taken me two years to truly get to that point (a lot of factors involved there), but I did it.

I’ve come up with a couple more myths, which I might cover at another time. But I realized something they all have in common.

Who takes forever to shower and get ready for anything (thus always showing up quite late)? The Dad.

Whose clutter is it that is strewn all over every flat surface in my parents’ house (much to The Mom’s chagrin)? The Dad’s.

Ergo, who is projecting his guilt over his flaws onto me? The Dad.

Could you please start projecting onto The Dude instead?

Advertisements