One-Sentence Journal, Week Fifty-Two

  1. 11/08/2015:  The best parts of the new James Bond movie are all the fabulous locations and the groovy clothes (007 must have a cache of designer casual, adventure, evening, and formal wear in every city in the world, right?), but I can sum up what would have made a huge improvement to it in three simple words: More Monica Bellucci.
  2. 11/09/2015:  Feeling the early stages of a cold of some level coming on, which damn well better be a false alarm if it knows what’s good for it.
  3. 11/10/2015:  What would have been my dad’s 75th birthday today, the 2nd one since his passing.
  4. 11/11/2015:  In a little over a year of “practice,” this afternoon was the worst case yet of, 2/3 of the way through yoga class, me wondering why I am there when all I wanted to do was get up, leave, and never even think of coming back.
  5. 11/12/2015:  Replaced an evening’s band practice with a late night playing an actual show and ended up having one of our better outings yet at ye olde VFW, where a great time was (presumably) had by all.
  6. 11/13/2015:  It isn’t so much the late night as it is the bouncing back early the next morning….
  7. 11/14/2015:  It’s crazy how positive an impact being mindful of spending time constructively — even if that means doing nothing on occasion — can be on one’s demeanor, until one stops doing so for a couple weeks and falls back to generally being a sullen asshole.
Someone send me to Italy to photograph Monica, okay? Thanks....

I obviously didn’t take this, so someone please send me to Italy to photograph Monica, okay? Thanks….

7 thoughts on “One-Sentence Journal, Week Fifty-Two

  1. Victoria

    I feel your not wanting to do yoga anymore. I’ve been working OT and using that as a reason to not run for the past week. Tomorrow I need/want? to get going on it again. I have a feeling starting back up is going to cause some angst.

  2. G.B. Miller

    I basically agree with you on that last statement. Not using one’s time constructively (I’ll raise my hand on that, Mr. LaTray) does turn one back into a sullen asshole (in my case, personified times two).


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