Today was Graham’s first day at his “big boy” job, so I was up early with him. I loved the earlyworld when I was a kid, it was always sunrise from the back of a taxi, rushing to make an 8am flight to some new place that my mom had to visit for work. Or it was watching the morning news with a bowl of cereal, plopped down and adoring the reporters and meteorologists. Less frequently, it was dewey Sunday mornings making my way to church arm-in-arm with my mom, or later on several steps ahead of her.
This morning I was up before the sun, something I didn’t even have to suffer during the winter months. I made coffee and breakfast for the BF while he showered because I’m a super great catch. We ate together while the sun rose, and he rushed out the door at 7 with a quick hug and a kiss, leaving me with five hours to kill before my Tuesday class. I went running, which is something I used to do daily in my more moralistic years on 8th St. I had an ecstatic run on the B-Line trail through patches of fog streaked with the golden morning sun. I encountered a family of deer and watched in joy with a stranger. I returned from my run and drank a giant cup of coffee.
A morning fit for pinterest.
Now, because I’m a sentimental idiot, I spent the rest of the morning browsing justgirlythings (ugh…I know) and pinterest, listening to Ben Howard, and trying to get hip to what the kids are doing. I like being hip to what the kids are doing, because I feel like I’m living some sort of vicarious youth that I never got to experience in my teenage years because I was too busy being batshit crazy. I mean I’m not regressing or anything. The vicarious youth thing is, for me, like some people’s secret passive interest in something gross like Miley Cyrus or crafty cupcakes.
I don’t think I deserve to be judged for this. I mean, I’m moderately self-aware, I listen to The Menzingers, I spend a week semi-annually being very interested in alternative feminist internet journalism, but I’m increasingly basic. The irony that filled my heart when I bought my Uggs a few years ago has drained and now I wear them because they’re damn comfortable and make me feel like like I’m on Laguna Beach. Perhaps basicness is just a symptom of growing older, or perhaps it’s a symptom of Ben Howard, or perhaps it’s not actually a crime to be a sentimental idiot. Either way I hope tomorrow is the same because today effing rocked.

Today was Graham’s first day at his “big boy” job, so I was up early with him. I loved the earlyworld when I was a kid, it was always sunrise from the back of a taxi, rushing to make an 8am flight to some new place that my mom had to visit for work. Or it was watching the morning news with a bowl of cereal, plopped down and adoring the reporters and meteorologists. Less frequently, it was dewey Sunday mornings making my way to church arm-in-arm with my mom, or later on several steps ahead of her.

This morning I was up before the sun, something I didn’t even have to suffer during the winter months. I made coffee and breakfast for the BF while he showered because I’m a super great catch. We ate together while the sun rose, and he rushed out the door at 7 with a quick hug and a kiss, leaving me with five hours to kill before my Tuesday class. I went running, which is something I used to do daily in my more moralistic years on 8th St. I had an ecstatic run on the B-Line trail through patches of fog streaked with the golden morning sun. I encountered a family of deer and watched in joy with a stranger. I returned from my run and drank a giant cup of coffee.

A morning fit for pinterest.

Now, because I’m a sentimental idiot, I spent the rest of the morning browsing justgirlythings (ugh…I know) and pinterest, listening to Ben Howard, and trying to get hip to what the kids are doing. I like being hip to what the kids are doing, because I feel like I’m living some sort of vicarious youth that I never got to experience in my teenage years because I was too busy being batshit crazy. I mean I’m not regressing or anything. The vicarious youth thing is, for me, like some people’s secret passive interest in something gross like Miley Cyrus or crafty cupcakes.

I don’t think I deserve to be judged for this. I mean, I’m moderately self-aware, I listen to The Menzingers, I spend a week semi-annually being very interested in alternative feminist internet journalism, but I’m increasingly basic. The irony that filled my heart when I bought my Uggs a few years ago has drained and now I wear them because they’re damn comfortable and make me feel like like I’m on Laguna Beach. Perhaps basicness is just a symptom of growing older, or perhaps it’s a symptom of Ben Howard, or perhaps it’s not actually a crime to be a sentimental idiot. Either way I hope tomorrow is the same because today effing rocked.

djupaskogar
fuck-yeah-bears:

bear by Lauri Tammik

Certainly a majestic creature, etc, etc, but hot holy damn this is my nightmare. Let me bring you to my level. You’re in a bright red shirt and Chacos logged down with a Osprey full of oranges because, hey, isn’t it a funny prank to hike 3 miles to the next camp (in Chacos) and hide 30 oranges in the camp director’s sleeping bag? Yeah, that’s hilarious. But obviously after two months in the backcountry without spotting a single abandoned bear cub, you’re going to see a big brown lurking in the canyon when you’re carrying 30 oranges and wearing Chacos. When I see this picture, I think “welp at least now I won’t live to get made fun of for peeing my shorts.”

fuck-yeah-bears:

bear by Lauri Tammik

Certainly a majestic creature, etc, etc, but hot holy damn this is my nightmare. Let me bring you to my level. You’re in a bright red shirt and Chacos logged down with a Osprey full of oranges because, hey, isn’t it a funny prank to hike 3 miles to the next camp (in Chacos) and hide 30 oranges in the camp director’s sleeping bag? Yeah, that’s hilarious. But obviously after two months in the backcountry without spotting a single abandoned bear cub, you’re going to see a big brown lurking in the canyon when you’re carrying 30 oranges and wearing Chacos. When I see this picture, I think “welp at least now I won’t live to get made fun of for peeing my shorts.”