July 20, 2008 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?

Ugh. I spend so much time working these days, and I get home (sometimes as early as 8 PM!) and I just want to do … nothing. And in particular, nothing that requires a computer. No checking e-mail, no composing of blog posts, no paying bills online, no nothin’. (This may explain why my home phone plays a message about my service being temporarily suspended, but I can still dial 911 if it’s an emergency.)  Sometimes I’ll read or flip through Pottery Barn catalogs fancy interior design magazines, but some days even that takes too much effort. So I turn on baseball. Yes, I am one of the 359 people who watch Nats games. Really, I had no idea I was so special.

But I figure you deserve some amusement, so please enjoy these somewhat recent realizations that there is, in fact, something wrong with me.

• I showed up for our beach weekend with a library book. A non-fiction book. About science. Before anyone could accuse me of being a giant dork, I discovered that my dad brought the same exact book for the trip.
• I wear dress clothes and jewelry every day. I can wear them comfortably for as long as the day requires, but the second I walk in the door it’s off like a prom dress with them. If I pause to read the mail rather immediately changing into yoga pants, my clothes begin to bind, my necklace starts choking me and I’ll stop in the middle of a paragraph to go change because OK, ENOUGH ALREADY!
• I lost three pounds this week without even trying. Ordinarily that would be cause for celebration, but it’s actually quite troubling, as it seems that my body now disdains food. I’m rarely hungry, nothing sounds appealing, and many many items cause my insides to do flips. Especially crazy foods like a banana, which I ordinarily eat as a snack on a daily basis.
• I’ve sort of adopted the homeless guy who sits on a bench over the bridge near my house. He doesn’t panhandle or harrass people or scream rants full of crazy. And he thinks I’m pretty. In other words, he’s my kind of homeless guy. I don’t know his name or where he goes when he’s not on the bench (I’ve been trying to figure out if he sleeps there overnight — I’m leaning toward not) and I know it’s a little odd, but there’s something reassuring to me about our routine interactions. It’s a solid reminder that I live in a big city.