Well shit. Tonight is daylight savings. And whereas I’m thrilled about there being more sunshine in my life, I’m not thrilled about losing an hour of sleep, especially since I’m getting up early tomorrow to teach a swing dance workshop. That being said, it’s fabulous to be employed, so I’ll set my alarm and soldier through like the adult that I am. I can always sleep in on Monday. Still, it’s eleven now, basically midnight, so I need to finish this lickety-split and start winding down.

So far it’s been a wonderful weekend. Last night (Friday), I had dinner with a friend then went to see a local (kids) production of The Wizard of Oz. At dinner I had my first cup of coffee in over two months, since Christmas Day, the day before my knee surgery. I quit because I was really overdoing it, drinking caffeine all day then wondering why I wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep. Anyway, my cup of joe was fabulous, and I managed to limit myself. No refills.

Let’s say this together–“I am capable of moderation.”

This afternoon I hung out with my friend Justin. The weather today was gorgeous, so we went for a long walk downtown by the river. As per usual, we discussed all things deep and shallow. After our walk, we grabbed a quick dinner, then Justin took off to other plans. Then I went to help another friend with a television remote control problem and ended up learning about a technology called CES, which allows a device that’s connected to your television through an HDMI cable (like Apple TV or a DVD player) to turn your television on or off. That was the problem, the remote was turning the television off, but then the television was coming back on (because Apple TV was telling it to).

Some electronic devices are so bossy.

Since my friend doesn’t use Apple TV anymore, we simply unplugged it, and that solved the problem. But there’s a lesson here somewhere. Something about how we give some people the power to turn us on or turn us off, how we let certain others push our buttons and get us all riled up when we could just unplug them.

Bye, Felicia.

This weekend I’ve broken a lot of my personal rules. In addition to having coffee last night, I also had dessert–white chocolate raspberry cheesecake, which is the next best thing to live-in lover as far as I’m concerned but is also loaded with calories. Then tonight after my friend and I fixed their remote control problem, we went to Braum’s and I had a chocolate malt. Again, it was basically orgasmic, and fattening. Now I’m considering breaking another rule. Since I’m pressed for time, I’ve almost convinced myself to skip my knee rehab exercises for the first time since surgery. Surely that’ll be okay.

Surely.

The last time I spoke to my therapist, she talked about my knee injury. “That was seriously rando,” she said. (That’s short for random, Mom.) Then she added, “If I had to guess, I’d say that happened because the universe wants you to slow the fuck down.” This was said just after we’d discussed how much I should be pushing myself–to get better, to write more often, to be productive. “You’re productive enough,” she said. So I’m trying to let that sink in, the idea that it’s okay to slow down, slow way down, that it’s good and necessary to break your own rules occasionally because–hello!–there are no rules here. Life, it seems, is meant for being lived in the moment, not from a calendar or rule book.