It does not take much to impress or excite me these days. As you may be well aware, I love receiving mail of any sorts. It could be a hyena swathed in bubble wrap or a leg lamp, as long as its addressed to me, I get really, maybe overly, excited about what lay therein. I become entranced by the sound of thunderstorms, rain thudding upon the roof like a thousand angry babies, pounding their tiny fists for a mushy breakfast. New kinds of wine I have never tried but taste of liquid velvet can turn an otherwise dreary day into one to be celebrated. The best part about being easily excited is that small things can spring up, catching me off guard and in the process, altering my entire day. Such an occurrence happened during my daily jaunt to work.
Working out has been a mainstay in my life for as long as I can remember. Karate, ballet and ultimately hockey shaped my early life so that by the time I was 14 years old, I was working out at least 5 days a week. I figured I was being healthy, that my body would thank me for the absurd amount of time I was working out, but that did not exactly happen.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.