Easily Excitable

Before you read the following article, I want you to know something: 

I used to be a lot of fun. 

I swear I was.

Okay, well… allow me to rephrase: 

I used to think I was a lot of fun: I won’t speak for the public, insofar as what they thought about me personally. 

But as I looked deeply, longingly, into the abyss of my black coffee the other day, I realized something: 

I am not the woman I once was. My thoughts now? They are not my thoughts of 2015. 

They are not my thoughts of college. Nor are they my thoughts of high school.

Circumstantial Evidence 

Exhibit A- When I would to go to Hong Kong in high school, my carryout plate of food would weigh around $10 worth. I would eat every bit and STILL BE HUNGRY. 

Exhibit B– After softball practice, we would routinely go to McDonald’s: I would eat three sandwiches, a medium fry, and a large soft drink. 

Exhibit C- I drank FULL SUGAR MOUNTAIN DEW. 

And now? I worry about whether or not the canned peas I’m eating have BPA in them. 

All that to say, I started thinking about things I do and thoughts I have now that never would have occurred to me nine or ten years ago. 

Myself of old would consider her future self (ain’t that a mind bender!) a real square. She would take one look at me and think to her herself that the mighty have fallen. 

Here are a few of those things I do and care about now that would shock my former self.

Friday afternoon clean-ups

Back in the day, Friday at 3:00 meant being free of the darn high school, jumping into my white Impala and flying off into a fun weekend.

In college, on Thursday afternoons (because who even had Friday classes!), I would zoom from Georgia College, eager to go lay on a futon for some Grey’s Anatomy watching or on a poolside chair for some sun time. 

Now? 

I get butterflies in my stomach about doing my Friday afternoon clean-up.

Before I even think about starting the weekend, I get the house picked up, laundry started, and the main living areas all straightened up. 

This is all because I have a very correct theory that the best way to enjoy a weekend is by starting it with a clean house.

Then, you can relax and be in bed by 9:45. 

There was once a time where I couldn’t imagine a weekend where you didn’t go out. Lo and behold, I am now living my best life. 

In a clean house, mind you. 

Perusing Grocery sales papers

This is my favorite Wednesday morning activity. When I wash my hair that morning- a washing just always falls on a Wednesday, I guess- I will dry my hair and look at all those sales. 

This all began approximately a year and a half ago when I discovered that Kroger has amazing meat sales right around Easter. 

It changed my life, and my regular viewings are Kroger, Publix, Aldi, and Food Depot. 

During the summer, I would buy pounds upon pounds of $.99 beef from Food Depot that I just KNOW was organic.

This…this is what excites me now. 

Good personal hygiene

LET THE RECORD STATE: 

I didn’t shower like I should have.

I washed my sheets once or twice a semester, and I used my roommate’s toothbrush (oh Aubri, I am so sorry). 

Whoever thought that shipping me off to Milledgeville was a good idea was off their rocker. OR the aforementioned parties were just trying to get rid of me for a bit (a much more likely scenario).

I was a disaster then, but that refining fire known as college revealed this: 

I am every bit as trash as I thought I was. 

But, now, I am trash with better hygiene. 

The hardest calculus I do every week is determining what day to wash my hair, as I don’t want to dry it out, but I also would prefer it not to scream “you could fry a chicken on this noggin.”

Cracking pecans to relax

I married a good man. 

Nay. 

I married a great man.

I married the kind of man who joyfully accompanies his wife to Christmas Made in the South and doesn’t get too upset when I stop to smell every kind of lotion and soap they have in the joint. 

That will get him some jewels, but he won his crown with putting up this habit of mine. 

My favorite thing to do in the evening is now cracking pecans as we watch TV. 

I’m auditioning to be your 80 year old grandfather, folks.

This is annoying on multiple levels 

Not only do the cracks ring out like gunshots, but the debris shoots out everywhere. Makes for a right nice mess to have to vacuum up.

On the bright side, I currently have multiple bags of whole cracked pecans for cooking should I need them.

When I told Gran about it, her comment was such: “Oh, Emmie, you’re just like your Pa. He loved to crack them at night, too.”

What a compliment!

The search for a bread-making Machine 

One of my teaching colleagues showed me a picture of her sourdough starter the other day. I felt a frenzy rising up in me. 

Do…I…actually…maybe…want to make my own bread?

Since then, there have been multiple searches for what a ‘bread machine’ actually is, how to work it, and recipes for making it. 

I think my approach will be keeping my eyes peeled for a secondhand version: if the Bread of Life wants me to start making my own bread, He’ll lead me to it, amen. 

In truth, I just don’t know that I have the capacity for a sourdough starter right now. 

But I am intrigued by the thought of making my own bread, nonetheless. 

My twenty-year-old self wants to fight me: had you said “bread machine” to her back in the day, she would have assumed you spoke of a toaster. 

Worrying about Microplastics

The more I read about toxins, the closer I am to saying “Forget it” and welcoming all the toxins in with open arms. 

I have information overload. 

Now? After all the reading I’ve done? 

It’s almost taken all the joy out of eating. 

ALMOST. 

You’re trying to tell me that I can no longer store the leftover spaghetti sauce in the Cool Whip container we saved?

My whole life has been a lie. 

Back in the day, when I worked at Citizens Bank Cochran, when my coffee got cold, I’d put that styrofoam sucker into the microwave on full blast for 47 seconds. 

When I showed up to ball practice, I would get one of the 57 plastic water bottles that had been rolling around in the floorboard, baking in the white Impala underneath the Georgia sun, and fill it up.

Honestly? I think there are just too many microplastics wedged in my brain by this point for me to make much of a difference. 

I think I am too far gone to care, but STILL I read these stupid health books, and STILL I check these stupid ingredient lists, and STILL I try to buy organic cabbage. 

Running (And getting closer to the Lord in the Process)

The only time I really ‘worked out’ was when I was getting ready for GCSU Homecoming my senior year.

Objective #1 (really, Objective #Only): Do not let your tummy spill forth from the cut-out at the waist. 

That’s it. I worked out for a month and a half to make sure I avoided that scene. 

I did. So, naturally, I quit working out. 

What I did do just a little bit was running. 

All I ever really did was a few miles in college to prepare for a 5k that we would run as a family. 

And get this: this 5K was for Mothers Day. 

If there was ever a moment in our family history when we earned a spot on a reality show, it was that day. 

The nuclear Meadows family was a disaster then, and we are still a disaster now. 

But, again: WE ARE A GOOD TIME.

At any rate, that running was- again- a one time thing. 

Now, I run without being chased or having a coach scream at me: that is to say, I run now of my own volition.

I think running is so stupid, and I hate it, but I also kind of like it, and at the end, I always whisper, “Thank You, Jesus,” because I did the impossible. 

And, really, how odd that I would do something of that nature in my free time. 

It’s DYING IN MOTION.

This I believe:

Change is a good thing. And I am one odd human being.