thank you for your time, try not to waste any more of mine

My experiment in internet withdrawal was mostly successful today -- other than the fact that I slept until ten and started using the internet again at six, of course. But, in the time that I wasn't online, I was quite productive, so perhaps I should do this more often. Doing it more often would be easier if I could rely on my own willpower, rather than doing everything in advance to ensure that I can't use the internet -- such as going to a place without wireless and leaving my smartphone behind, which effectively felt like stepping back into the dark ages of 2005.

I shall return to the beginning, though, which involved me not realizing that the alarm on my non-smartphone only snoozes once -- as a result, I turned off the alarm and didn't get out of bed until ten a.m. This was not early enough to write, but was early enough to eat something before going to the gym for my stretching appointment with Art, who proceeded to abuse my limbs with a combination of his hands and a PVC pipe. As it turns out, he was v. good; I was not exactly looking forward to the appointment after the seriousness with which he an Alyssa scrutinized me yesterday, but he turned out to be pretty friendly (which is nice, considering the level of pain he inflicted -- it's always nice to develop Stockholm Syndrome early on with one's tormenters). But after he was done, I did a few test squats and was amazed at the results; my form was v. good, and my tendency to unconsciously lift my left heel while squatting disappeared. The final test comes tomorrow when I work out with Alyssa, but adding one or two sessions with Art every month may make a huge difference in making me feel like a graceful human being rather than a member of the island of misfit toys.

After I finished at the gym, I ate some lunch, came home, packed my backpack, and walked over to Stanford's Green Library, where I knew that I could write in a lovely venue without any access to internet. I only stayed for three hours, but I wrote seven pages -- not a prodigious sum for three hours, but the scene was a difficult one (the "dark moment" when all seems to be lost), so I was v. pleased with that. Then, I walked home while it was still daylight to avoid a) rapists and b) more important, the twenty-degree temperature drop that comes at sunset. I made myself some supper (the white chili recipe I liked from the cookbook my parents gave me), and proceeded to take care of some minor tasks that had been niggling at the sides of my consciousness over the past couple of weeks. It didn't result in any more writing, but as these were all things that needed to be done, I can't really regret it.

And now, I must go to bed. For those of you who miss the links, you can read this ESPN story of one of the Oklahoma State basketball players who was killed when one of their team planes crashed ten years ago -- but be forewarned that it's v. long and v. tear-inducing (which is part of why I didn't venture back out after supper to write in a coffee shop -- there's nothing more pathetic than a single girl who looks like she's been crying sitting alone at a Starbucks). Goodnight!