It’s hard for me to multitask. I don’t care that women are supposed to be able to do it, I can’t.
I’m reminded of how much I love B. when I wake up in the middle of the night and look at him sleeping next to me. (Unless he somehow woke me up for the millionth time that night, then I tend to flop over to my other side really aggressively, rocking the bed so that he wakes up too. Which totally doesn’t work, he just goes back to sleep while I lie there. Karma, I suppose.)
I feel self-conscious when I express an opinion and people actually listen to me. That’s the cue for me to turn red and shut up and assume what I’m saying isn’t important anyway.
I am mildly dishonest when I don’t buy the extra ‘Zusatsticket’ when crossing the Dutch/German border by train even though I technically should.
I can’t imagine a world without being able to lose myself in my imagination.
I’m surprised that I still attempt to run every so often. I am so not a runner yet I’m determined to become one, some day.
I get a little too easily wrapped up in watching new tv series, like Six Feet Under. (I’ve banned the series for the time being, at least till I finish my conference talk, due need week.)
I indulge in guilty pleasures like reading cheap crime novels and eating popcorn, usually at the same time.
I wish all things in life were as wonderful as walking out of a bookstore with a brand new book (oh, for a new-book-smell and a smooth, uncreased cover!).