The donut, the club, the boys, the work, the ouch.

A couple weeks ago I met up with this guy Tim, who won the free donut. He was really nice and cool. It felt a little like a therapy session, since I know nothing about him, he knows a lot about me, and we talked mostly about how I can improve my life.

He's in Thailand right now, I think.

Hopefully this won't be the last I see of Tim, who is nice and cool. He should come to the brunch club.

Speaking of the brunch club, the Sound Scientist, one of our charter members, has not been in a really long time. It makes me a little sad, since we were such good close friends for a while and I had hope that for once a good, close friendship that I developed would not dissolve into the distant, see-you-once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing that is all too common here in NYC. However, some of the gals I know through dance have been coming, which is nice. And of course my sidekicks, The Starlet and The Heartwarmer, who I love. And our Pet Nineteen-Year-Old, who The Starlet adopted last summer while waiting in line for Shakespeare in the Park...she comes quite a bit. But it's a total chickfest, which sometimes gets on my nerves. I like having guy friends around.

Speaking of guy friends, there are two of them that suddenly seem to be jumping up and down trying to get my attention. Since I've been unemployed, I've had the time to indulge this a bit, but they are both testing my impatience as I wait to see a little assertiveness. Asking me to go out is fine, but it's no fun if I have to be the one making all the decisions. I hate making decisions, and I have to do it plenty enough on my own. Please tell me where to be, when to be there, and what sort of attire is expected. Dating is, like, the one time I do not want to be in control.

Speaking of things that are beyond my control, the reason I haven't written in a long time is that I've been a little depressed. Economically depressed as well as too-much-time-on-my-hands depressed. But here's the good news, President offered me a job yesterday! Praise Jesus! She might not know it (well maybe she does), but she has rescued me from certain financial ruin, or at least from the emotional devastation of having to ask my family for (more) help. I was beginning to worry that I was on the cusp of losing my grasp on this whole New York movie-making freelancer endeavor...and while the financial part would be hard, the idea of failing myself is much much harder.

Speaking of things that are hard for me to confront, I had to reign in my running a little bit, which is driving me crazy, since mentally I'm ready for an 8 miler. I have developed a mild case of Plantar fasciitis. If you can imagine having your heel sliced off with a meat slicer you can begin to understand what it feels like. Long story short, I was grossly inflating my weekly mileage, switched to a new pair of running shoes without enough arch support, all the while romping through New York for miles and miles each day wearing flat-soled Chuck Taylors with no insoles. Boom. Plantar fascitis, or as I like to call it, Chuck Taylor Syndrome. Just goes to show you should listen to Dr. Scholl and put arch supports in all your shoes. With a little Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation and a LOT more stretching I should be able to overcome the daggers in my heels pretty soon, then I'm going to own the hell out of that 8-miler. It's going to take me across the Brooklyn Bridge and back.