"How Many Laps Did You Do, Edna?"

I've felt blah since the day after New Year's. The New Year's Eve party was great. Sangria was consumed, games were played, but I think Dick Clark instigated the 2010 blah. Seeing Dick Clark kissing his wife is not the most upbeat way to ring in the New Year. His odd plastic surgery, obvious spray tan and slightly stroke afflicted face just don't say Happy New Year anymore. And  J-Lo's spangly body suit didn't help.

But I don't blame Dick and I'm not depressed or sad. Just eh. I think it's inevitable in January. The Holidays take over in November and December, all the rush and excitement, parties and family events, presents and baking, vacation time and relaxing. God, it's great. But in part the holidays are wonderful because they are short lived. They are special and happen just once a year. And I like that. Kind of like an orchid that blooms and dies in a couple of weeks. It is that much more beautiful, because of the brevity of its existence. Though spending time with one's family (not mine, of course) at the holidays probably should be compared to a trout that is starting reek a bit after three days, instead of the beauty of an orchid, but I digress.

Anyway, the orchid is now dead and I have to put away all the Christmas stuff. And there are like 20 feet of snow on the ground.  And the windchill factor, which according to my grandfather was just a scam by the weatherman community, is 1895 below zero. And I'm blah. I'm tired of being inside. I'm tired of slogging my way home through stupid slow drivers whose tires are so bald that they can't even get through an intersection and make me miss three cycles of the light. Seriously, this happened this morning on the way to work.  I finally passed him once I wasn't trapped by the traffic in the lane next to me. And he flicked me off.

But some lights at the end of the blah tunnel, I start my volunteer work with Literacy KC this weekend, just an orientation meeting, but I'm looking forward to it.  Joe and I, mostly I, have become addicted via Netflix Instant Watch, to the BBC show Skins. It's a raunchy British high school drama that is surprisingly well written, generally well acted and just plain fun. Almost done with Season 2. Joe keeps saying we should ration it and watch one episode every couple of days. I don't do that. I can't do that. I want to watch four episodes a night. But that's just my personality. Delayed gratification? Silly talk.

And on the Get-Kassie-Skinnier-Plan, I start working out with my partner in crime, Tara, on Monday.  We don't want to spend money on a gym. We don't want to work out alone all week, so our solution is to follow our elders advice, and walk at the mall until the weather improves. If it's good enough for Edna it's good enough for me. Now, now, don't mock. This is a dorky yet cheap solution to our workout problem, think of the people watching, the warm indoor climate, the window shopping, the excellent conversation. Did you know there is actually a mall walker's handbook? Wow.  Nylon jogging suit and fanny pack here I come. Plus on the days we don't walk together we both have treadmills or ellipticals at home that could use some attention. Generally my healthy life style changes (doesn't that sound focused and determined) have been going pretty well so far. I didn't gain any weight at the holidays, shockingly, and I've lost about five pounds since Christmas. So I've got that going for me. But I can do more. So I'm going to. Shaking off the blahs, almost there.