For the next hour, you would do one shot of beer every minute. Now, this may not sound like much, but we figured it out one bored, sober afternoon � it works out to about 2 and � beers, in 60 minutes. That�s serious drinking.
The fun part of the game was the way the definition of a minute would change entirely within the course of one short hour. At the beginning of the hour, everyone�s all tapping their feet, staring at the clock, ready to shoot that next jigger of beer. The minute feels so long, and the shot glass so tiny.
Fast forward about 40 minutes. The minutes are flying by faster than you can believe. A shot glass looks huge. You can barely swallow a SHOT of BEER. You�re saying things like, �It�sh been a minute awreaddy? Day-um!�
Why am I telling you this? Because I�ve started running again. Christy and I are following the Couch to 5K Running Plan, and it�s been pretty good so far. Lots of interval training, with gradually increasing runs and gradually DEcreasing walking breaks.
But it�s funny about how you feel affects time. In the beginning of my 20-minute run, those jogs feel so short, and the walks so long, much like the minutes at the beginning of The Hour Of Power. Toward the end of my workout, and I�m going, �Man! It�s time to run already AGAIN?!�
Anyway.
I have green fingertips and a very happy roomie.
Shawn wanted to go out last night to count down the �eve� of her birthday, like we did for mine a few years ago. I just couldn�t do it. I hadn�t slept well the night before, had to get up early today, and was on a conference call with a volunteer committee until after 10 p.m. The thought of dragging myself to a loud, crowded bar actually kind of made me want to cry.
So I grabbed a stack of mini post-it notes and a green marker, and left her birthday greetings ALL OVER the house. Her closet reminded her to put on her birthday suit. The dishwasher told her that birthday girls don�t do dishes. The cat said Meow! Happy Birthday! Her alarm clock told her to hit snooze and sleep in. The TV. The computer. Her stereo. The shower. The medicine cabinet. I got SO inspired. After a while, from all the way back in my bedroom, Beaker yelled, �I can HEAR you WRITING!� I kept on.
And this morning, she still hadn�t come home, despite my last words with her on the phone being, �Don�t tear it up TOO bad so we can have some fun on your actual day.� And her saying, �Okay!� I still felt so guilty for not going with her.
But, I got a phone call at work mid-morning thanking me for the post-it party, and just going on and on. The guilt is just about gone. And, she met a boy! But we are NOT talking about it, �cause she doesn�t want to jinx it.
He must be cute.
