After a little breakfast muesli and coffee I was sure I hadn't taken enough to do anything meaningful...But then... I promptly wrote a couple thousand words of "my novel," did 12 sun salutations, ran to the park (2 miles), did thirty pushups, attempted a dozen handstands, pullups, ran back home, "got biblical," went to the public pool, sweat in a sauna for like thirty minutes while all the children and adolescents who came into same sauna (it's a big sauna) stood or sat in the exact opposite corner and stared at me looking scared.
I was doing yoga stretches. Can't blame them.
Got dressed afterward. Elicited same gaping looks from children and adolescents in locker room that I did in sauna. Looked down and realized on my shirt is an illustration of a monkey with a boner.
Nice one, Anne.
Had dinner with both housemates (slow-cooked reindeer. MMmmmMMMmm). Reindeer meat starts to slow down my momentum. We discuss our travels. I mention trips to Italy and Bali this year. Mention I'm going to Mongolia the next.
Connie (ex-secret ops engineer for government, turned acupuncturist. No I'm not making this up) tells me that sounds exactly like Eat, Pray, Love, which, apparently, is about a woman who eats in Italy, prays in India, and loves in Bali.
My heart sinks.
I have abhorred this book, in principle, since the day the zeitgeist started handing them out to everyone in my Brooklyn demographic (mostly because everyone recommended it to me and I was just being a stuck-up publishing flack). By 2007, if someone said, "I LOVE this book," I'd roll my eyes. By 2009 I'd de-friend that person. But this whole time I had no idea what the damned book was about (except something about a woman's self-realization). I feel like a cliché. Connie says:
The book's the cliché, not you.
Adds that she hated the book because it was "egomaniacal." I thank her. Decide since Tromso isn't India, I'm not "Pray" but...
F++k my life