Generally speaking, I don’t like change, unless that change involves a trip to Maui or something similar. That kind of change I can get behind, and I can get behind it something fierce, but just about everything else that disrupts my routine or the nice little life I’ve carved out for myself pretty much gives me hives. It’s not that I’m not adventurous, it’s just that … well, okay, I’m really not adventurous at all, and I’m mostly okay with that, because it’s a part of my character that’s so deeply ingrained it’s not likely to change.
But it’s fall, and lo, the mornings are crisper and I want to buy highlighters (as previously mentioned) and somehow and for some reason, I’ve spent the last few weeks (while not blogging, obviously) feeling this insatiable need to mix things up a little. It’s harshing my mellow, so much so that last week while standing in line at the butcher shop (the one that sells the organic milk that Mike likes and from time to time even carries honest-to-goodness British Dairy Milks) I actually bought FISH. Fish, which I don’t like unless it’s beer battered, deep fried, and paired with tartar sauce and soggy french fries. Fish, which I don’t really know how to cook and which stinks up your house and which I avoid like the plague in spite of all of the omega-3s and the good cholesterol and the lean protein and which has that weird flaky texture and SOMETIMES TINY LITTLE BONES OR PIECES OF SKIN OH MY GOSH I CAN’T BELIEVE I ATE IT. But I did. Eat it, I mean, and it wasn’t so bad, and maybe it builds character and my health is a little better now, but it turns out lower cholesterol wasn’t the big change I was looking for and I have no idea what is.