I realize things have been a little impersonal around here lately. As any blogger will tell you, it’s a constant balance between revealing too much (yeah, I really want my coworkers reading this) and revealing so little that Elish becomes a ticker tape of Ariel events and not much else. So in the interest of semi-safe self-revelation, here’s some of the latest from Ariel land:

I haven’t washed my hair in a week and a half. I wear it in two braids every day and usually a hat on top and why bother?

I started doing yoga 5 mornings a week this summer, and I’m still doing it. I usually do about 10 minutes of sun salutations, but some mornings I do closer to half and hour and some mornings it’s really only five minutes. The cumulative effect of this morning practice plus the year and a half of classes I do with varying frequency is that I’ve become a human pretzel. I am a walking party trick. Full splits? No problem. Ankle behind ear? No sweat. Full lotus bent all the way over with my forehead on the ground? Pie! My hamstrings are like salt water taffy. Sadly, my arms are still weak like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and my body remains the squishy slightly over-soft shape it’s always been. But I can tie myself in squishy knots!

My job is simultaneously very exciting and extremely draining. I have a tendency to get over-invested in editorial projects and this has me skirting perpetual burn out. Daily editorial deadlines take their toll, too. (”Why, I can’t get sick! My work needs me!”) I daydream of the perfect work-week being 30 hours.

A couple months ago I had a health situation. And no, I don’t talk about such things here. All you need to know is that it’s wasn’t all that serious and it’s ok now, but it’s always sobering to be smacked upside the head with a doctor saying Scary Things. I wonder sometimes if my state of Chronic Over Ambition this year and the health issues might be related.

Oh wait, did I say Chronic Over Ambition? I’m sorry: I spend a huge amount of time hanging out in my pajamas staring at the wall. I rarely go out. I infrequently see friends. My email inbox is always full, but my voicemail goes weeks without a ping. It’s hibernation season in Seattle, but sometimes it gets awfully lonely and sad. Pass the hanky, I’m getting wistful.

Speaking of missing people, have I mentioned that two of my closest childhood friends are moving back to Bainbridge Island? And they’re bringing mens and little folk! My Godsister is returning from five years of living in France and Martinique. She returns with her husband and daughter, Kayla May. Susannah, the other half of my brain through all of middle and high school, is opening a B&B with her husband Michael on the Island. Baby Hank (who’s now Toddler Hank — I just attended his 3rd birthday) will be moving to the Island as well. Bainbridge Island is pretty much the Hotel California, folks. But with more expensive real estate.

Have I mentioned recently how much bigger my family has gotten? I have awesome cousins everywhere, both blood cuzzies coming of age and in-law cuzzies who are amazingly cool people.

Oh and now I’m going to bed to read a pulpy book that’s been the best bus page turner ever. I love the mystery of the author, too. Within the first page I could tell the book had been immediately optioned into a movie (it has) and I’m still mulling over whether the author should have just written a damn screenplay. But whatever: it’s great pulpy shit for my tired-ass brain.