I hope yours has, too.

I’ll see you back here whenever I have something to talk about. Maybe I’ll write a lot. Maybe I won’t. I have no idea.

But I have a feeling that this year is going to be different in all sorts of ways.

Because – bad news – Kodi has kennel cough.  And also – bad news – it is.

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First, “The Pianist” came from Netflix.  Then, “The Piano” came from Netflix.

What in the world.  Why did I choose to watch these back-to-back?  I’m so depressed.  If you happen to know something happy, please share.

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I’m so bored of my running playlist (Roxette’s “It Must Have Been Love” is only SO inspiring – although, let’s be real, it’s pretty damn inspiring).

What are the best songs to run to?  I’m thinking of utilizing this.

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Sometimes I miss Nashville so much, I can hardly breathe.  The next day, it’s Seattle.  Today, both are very much true.

But right now, in this moment, I choose to be present in this city, on this day, with these tasks, and these people.

I believe that the future holds good things.

But I also choose to acknowledge that the present holds good things.

It is a choice, you know.

The longing for “the way things were” is my Achilles’ heel, and it has the power to sink me like a cinder block.  It doesn’t matter what my present looks like, or what the past actually was like – nostalgia is a revisionist, and cuts out the tough things so that only the best memories remain.

But I’m in my little row boat on the river of life, and time is the current that’s pulling me forward, forward, forward.  I’m thankful for the places I’ve seen, and the the people I’ve met, and the opportunities and adventures that have surprised me along the way.  I’ve survived rapids and waterfalls and the occasional overturned boat, only to find that the stream just keeps going.  Paddling back the other direction doesn’t get me very far, and leaves me frustrated and tired (not to mention hungry for a hot dog).

So I choose to be content in this little wooden vessel, oars at the ready to help determine my course, but ultimately trusting that the river is pulling me in the right direction.  This week, it’s looped me back through Nashville – and as always, I’m grateful.

For vacation.

I don’t think I have ever had an entire week of vacation, ever in my life. I’ve taken 7-day stretches off of work, but have used them for crazy travel plans (ping-pong flights, weddings, road-trips, holidays, family events). Never have I ever taken a solid Monday through Friday with weekends on both ends, and decided to stay put.

This is my only plan: do not leave Colorado.

Except, that’s not true. You all know that I’ve planned it a bit more than that. In fact, last week, someone who knows me better than I thought called me out on it: “I don’t believe you. You totally have the week planned out.”

I denied it, because technically, I don’t know what’s going to happen when.

But he was totally right.

Here are some of my hopes for the week:
-Climb 3 mountains
-Snuggle my visiting nephews
-Go to the Denver Zoo
-See the final installment of “Harry Potter”
-Get a massage
-Turn 29-years old
-Go for ice cream

Because as long as I can plan on it, the spontaneous will come easily.

Any other ideas of what I should do with my “unplanned” time off? What would you do?

Long story short:
I’ve basically given up any hard-core training.

Short story long:
My life is so full right now.  I don’t have the hours in the week to put in the miles, nor do I have the desire to give anything up in order to make the time.  My body is a wreck.  I have a broken toe that has never really healed on my left foot, and what I believe are two bone spurs on my right.  I think about going on a long run, and my first response is a quivering lower lip.  I have zero motivation.

I know, blah blah blah.  Excuses, excuses.  Cry me a river, sister.

Last year, I was all about the running.  Then again, I didn’t really have friends here in Denver, and had endless hours to fill.  Last year, running kept me busy and active, got me out of the house and out into Denver.  In some ways, it really saved me.

This year is different.

I have more on my plate than I can swallow.  I am busy at work, and have a secret project taking up my free time.  There are some really wonderful new friends that I’m enjoying getting to know, and some really wonderful books that I’m enjoying reading, and some really wonderful opportunities that I’m enjoying taking advantage of.

Something had to go.  I chose running.

I’m still signed up for the race at the end of April, and I still plan on participating.  It’s just that my “participation” will likely take three hours instead of two.  Whatevs.  I’LL STILL GET A MEDAL.

2011, though?  It’s going to be different.

Why, you ask?

Because I am doing away with my theoretical wishes, and have come up with 12 concrete goals.

And when Annie Parsons sets a goal, she achieves it (case in point: the “Twilight” series).

Here they are, in no particular order – my 2011 12:
1) Shoot a gun.
2) Go out to dinner by myself.
3) Travel internationally.
4) Climb at least 10 14ers.
5) Stop eating the same thing for lunch every day.
6) Sing somewhere in Denver.
7) Send 52 hand-written letters.
8) Read Steinbeck’s “East of Eden.”
9) Take an honest-to-goodness vacation that lasts an entire week.
10) Snowshoe.
11) One that I’m keeping a secret.
12) Be hot.

Sorry.  Old habits die hard.

Today is another one of those days.

It’s the week before Christmas, which always seems to be busier than the week of Christmas.  Parties, people, events, high heels, big hair, sugar, wine, beer, money that slips away like a hand full of water.  It’s the most fun, most crazy-making week.

I haven’t worked out since Sunday, which makes me feel completely deranged.  There is a pile of clothes, shoes, coats, and bras on my bed, and I just keep pushing it over to climb under the covers at night.  I haven’t been getting enough sleep.  I’ve eaten cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  My toenail polish is chipped.  I haven’t responded to emails and texts and phone calls (I probably owe you one – I’m so sorry).  My level of busyness is making me a gigantically cranky stress ball.

Tonight is our company holiday party, and last night, I pulled out the dress I was planning on wearing.  It’s wrinkled and dirty from last year.  Why do I never learn to have the dress dry-cleaned at the end of the season so it’s fresh the next year?  Now I’m going to look like a hobo.

So yes.  If you see a cranky, deranged woman in a stained satin dress wandering the streets of downtown Nashville tonight, hobbling in her high heels because of her broken toe and carrying her lipstick in a bindle instead of a purse, that’s me.

Or it’s Mindy McCready.

It’s either Mindy McCready or me.

Oh please.

I should begin by saying that the sickness has left my system – literally, and glory hallelujah.  The only person that knows the specifics of my Monday is my mom, and I’m uncomfortable with even her knowing.  It was… I can’t even go there.  Let’s change the subject.

So here I am, back in Denver.

Time, catapult me out of August already.  August has spread me thinner than a hipster – and it isn’t even over yet.  I hate running on no reserves.

I’ve said before that I believe that our number one act of spiritual worship should be getting enough sleep.  Last weekend, Greta told me that she recently read that the most important factor in a woman’s happiness is whether or not she is well-rested.  How do parents of babies function?  This is an absolute mystery to me.  I don’t even own a house plant, and yet I am crashing – crashing like… why is the only metaphor I can think of “like Kanye at a Taylor Swift speech”?

See.  Crashing.

When I’m crashing, I lose creativity, and get all inconsolable about things like the cardboard box in the corner of my living room.  It’s just sitting there – but it’s just been sitting there since I moved in in January.  I don’t know where to put it.  I don’t know what to do with it.  It’s just THERE, taunting me with its displacement.

Twenty-eight years old is too old to get zits – but then again, Annie Parsons has never been a quitter.

I get irrationally annoyed at bad writing (in the interest of spying on people, I subscribe to some truly horrible blogs), and text messages in which every sentence ends in exclamation points!!!!  This is not the way you talk!!!!!  Calm the hell down!!!  You’re wasting your 160 characters!!!!!

Give my hackles a chance to settle down, and then I’ll tell you about my trip to Seattle last weekend.  Crashing or not, I can tell you right now that it was blissful.

The month of the Superbowl, the Olympics, and my half-birthday (today!)?

I forgot to pay my rent. FORGOT. That will be remedied ASAP.

In the meantime, now seemed like a good time to update the About Me and FAQ pages here on ye olde blog.