Thursday, June 30, 2011

funny how that works

This week is long.

The days start too early and last forever.

There is too much to do, too much to take in.

It is slightly overwhelming.

And the last thing I want to do at the end of it all is go run. Especially on Thursday.

I'd rather go to bed.

But I don't.

I drive myself home (and when I get there, I realize I have no idea how I got there).

I change from school clothes into shorts and a singlet and lace up my running shoes.

And I trudge out into the heat and sun and humidity.

And I head for the trails.

An hour later I come back, drenched in sweat, fully exhausted, with bugs plastered to me.

Happier than I've been in days.

Friday, June 24, 2011


So, I can't think of it as the class I don't want to take but have to take. I can't think of the money I had to spend to take the class I don't want to take but have to take. I can't think of it as having to get up even earlier than I do for work (!) in order to make it on time to the class I don't want to take but have to take. I can't think about how my internal workings will deal (or not deal) with that schedule. I can't think about sitting in a window-less room all day long, all week long, when the weather is finally supposed to be nice. I can't think about not getting home until stupidly late then having to cram in a run and post-run recovery tactics. I can't think about not having time to eat dinner, but only having 20 minutes during the day to eat some form of main meal for the day. I can't think about not seeing or speaking to anyone that isn't in this class (that I don't want to have but have to take). I can't think about any of it. I will slide into a sobbing heap if I do.

Things like this (for many and varied reasons) very nearly broke me this year.

I can't think about it.

So I'm not.

What I am thinking is this...

Next week, I am going to go though one hard-core, kick-butt, deep-cleansing detox. Because, hey, if I've gotta get up that early, and I'm not going to have time to eat, I may as well make it work to my advantage, right?

That little change in perspective gives me something I can actually (oddly) look forward to. And maybe even be a little excited about.

(Why does this feel like progress to me???)

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

gnomeo, oh, gnomeo....

Seriously. I love them.

Admit it. You do, too.


52 weeks of happiness

Sunday, June 19, 2011

soft shoe

So, it was the first time Best Friend and I would be seeing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. It was us, plus Two Lovely Ladies. We were in a giant sports arena, just about as high as you could climb without actually perching on a rafter. But we did not care. It was Bruuuuuuce. We were just so happy to be there.

We were waiting for the show to start, chatting and whatnot, when this fellow came up to us. He had a bit of a tough-biker-dude vibe about him, and I was a bit suspicious. He says "I only have two left, but if two of you want to go up to the front row, they're yours." My companions instantly said "yes!" but I wasn't quite so quick to the yes. My reply was something like "who are are you and why do you have these and why are you giving them to us?" Tough Biker Dude laughs just slightly and says "I work for Bruce. He doesn't let the front row of tickets be sold. He sends me out before the show to find people like you, with seats like these, and move you up to the front." My companions are pratically throwing their tickets at Tough Biker Dude, totally ready to trade up. My reply? "Do you have any ID?" He flashes his passes and badges and says "Do you want them or not?" So Best Friend and I hand over our tickets and take what he's offering. And off he goes, into the night. And the four of us just sat and stared at each other. Four people. Two tickets.

The Two Lovely Ladies looked at Best Friend and me, smiled and said "GO!!!" So we did. We made our way out into the concourse area, then stopped and looked at each other, slightly dazed. Then we looked down at the tickets we were now holding. Mine said Row 1, Seat 1. We looked at each other again, screamed, and took off running. Down three levels of arena. Screaming the whole way. We did stop briefly to call my mom, who had generously given her ticket to Best Friend earlier in the day, and told her what had happened. Her reply? "F***!"

When we finally made it down to the main level, we were shown to our Row 1 seats by a grinning usher. Looking around, it was a row of bewildered Bruce fans, talking quickly and animatedly with each other, pointing to where they had come from. We giddily took our seats, shared our story, (there was an episode with some $21 beverages, but that's another story), and the show started.

Turns out our Row 1 seats were about three feet from The Big Man, Clarence Clemons, himself. Oh. My. Gosh. A) It's Clarence Clemons!!! B) Bruce spends A LOT of the show hanging out with Clarence!!!

At one point, Bruce held my hand for about 2.1 seconds. And at another point, during a stunning Clarence solo, I became bold enough (maybe due to the $21 beverage) to reach out, very slowly, and touch (maybe the right word is "pet") Clarence Clemons's shoe. It was extremely soft. And he glanced at me with a look somewhere between "silly girl" and "why are you touching my shoe?"

It was one of the Best Nights Ever.

Love you, Clarence.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

I should be standing by the pond right now, but...

When I was a sophomore in high school, there was an excerpt from Henry David Thoreau's Walden in my literature book. I was approximately one and a half pages in when I realized that this piddly little excerpt was not going to be enough. Luckily, the library had a copy. I devoured it.

It wasn't like anything I had ever read. In it I saw such truth, such honesty, such wisdom, such beauty. And I fell in love. I was ready to move to a tiny one-room cabin on the shore of Walden Pond. (I'm still ready to move to a tiny one-room cabin on the shore of Walden Pond.) I try, every day, to live as Thoreau-like an existence as I can (I don't always succeed, but I keep trying). I quote Thoreau in my head on a daily basis. Two of my favorite quotes hang in my kitchen as constant reminders. My copy of Walden is filled with highlighted section, penciled-in notes in the margins, and dog-eared pages. I consider Henry David Thoreau to be a guru, of sorts.

I have been dreaming of making a Walden Pilgrimage for years. Three or four months ago, Hubby and I decided to make it happen. Take a vacation. My dream vacation. After all, we had not taken a real vacation (one longer than a half-day's drive away, one where we stayed longer than a long weekend) since our honeymoon, five years ago. Research was done. Hotel reservations made. Excitement built.

And then, three or for weeks ago, I was paying bills. (I could probably end right there. You know what's coming.) It became apparent that trying to pull together your dream vacation in three or four months could cause some financial strain where it didn't need to exist. So, reservations were canceled. Plans were un-made. Excitement turned to sadness.

And it's not forever. We will go. Just not now.

But I just can't stop thinking that it's sucky that money is so important. Such a focal point. Such a driving force. Even if you aren't a particularly materialistic person, you have to worry/think about money far more than I think it's healthy to do. There are lots of reasons, and some of them are totally out of our control. But still, you know?

If Thoreau was here in our world today, what would he say?

And would he let Hubby and me build a cabin next door?

Sunday, June 12, 2011

restart and reboot yourself

For the past few days, my neck has hurt. Really hurt. Actually, I've hurt from the base of my spine, down my neck, into my shoulders, and down my back. And my head has hurt, as well. I believe this is what it feels like when several months of pent up frustration/anger/upset/worry/anxiety all begin to leave your body at the same moment.


We went for a walk on the beach after dinner tonight. There was a chilly breeze and huge waves and no one there but us. We walked and walked, but didn't feel the need to talk. And I came home with a pocket of beach glass, lungs full of fresh air, and a slightly clearer head.


It's not very late, but I need to start getting ready for bed soon. The alarm will go off early tomorrow. Not for work, though. We're taking the train into The City for the sole purpose of eating a huge meal at a vegan restaurant, and maybe buying a few things we don't really need, if we see something we really like. Just because.


My list of things to do this week does not exist. Because this week, I do not care what gets done and what does not get done. This week I just want to be. To decompress. So that's what I'm going to do.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

you capture - flowers

My head is already there. Already on the beach with a book, listening to the waves meet the sand and the seagulls play in the air.

There is already a playlist filled with Jimmy Buffett and The Grateful Dead and Crosby, Stills, & Nash, and The Eagles on repeat in my head, and I'm thinking of that one particular harbor where I can see the southern cross and get a peaceful easy feeling while living a sunshine daydream.

Because my head? It's already in summer mode.

But the rest of me is catching up fast....

see more at Beth's

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

he gets it

Standing in the entry way of a museum that had kindly opened its doors so that several thousand runners did not have to wait in line for the porta-poty, UB turned to me and said "I'm gonna head to the finish now. What time do you think you'll be done?"

This was the first time UB had been to a race with me since the meltdown. He's used to me saying some quick-ish time and nailing it. And he knows what's been going on, but he hadn't really experienced Me, Version 2.0 yet.

I answered with something like "Um... ahh... Maybe an hour? Hopefully not more than an hour. But maybe more than an hour. But I really really really hope it's not an hour."

He gave me a hug, said "Stride on," and left to wait for me at the finish line.

I went to the starting line.

Fifty-five minutes and sixteen seconds later, I crossed the finish line. I grabbed some water, located UB in the stands, and started making my way up.

I sat down one row below UB and stretched out my legs as he pulled the two huge ice packs from the cooler and handed them down to me. As I sat there with ice on my knees, we were both quiet for a few seconds. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and said "Good job, kiddo. You said you wanted less than an hour, and you were way under that. And in this heat, too. Good job." Then he moved on to another topic. There was no need to say more about the race; neither one of us ever lingers too long on a race performance discussion. But I was kind of stuck on that comment. It made me just a little teary.

Because UB, he gets it. He so gets it. And he gets me. And he gets what it means to me. And I just can't say that about a lot of people.

But I sure am lucky to have UB around. That I can say.

Monday, June 6, 2011


Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

Jerry Garcia

52 weeks of happiness

Sunday, June 5, 2011

a thread or a fall. or peanuts.

For too long, I've felt like I'm hanging on to the last thread of a fraying rope.

Lately, I've felt that maybe someone set the rope on fire, too.

And I can't quite figure out if I'll wind up more damaged by hanging on, or letting go.

But I'm hoping if I can just hang on for a tiny bit longer, the fall won't be so far, the landing not as hard.

And maybe, just maybe, I can finally find a different way.

Until then, I bought some chocolate covered peanuts.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

you capture - games.

I don't get it. He will search up and down the beach, looking for the "perfect rock." This can sometimes take quite awhile.

When he finds the "perfect rock," he then hurls it into the water. This takes a few seconds.

I think the "point" is to hurl the rock at the exact perfect angle and trajectory so as to make said rock skip across the surface of the water before sinking to the bottom of the lake.

If that can be considered a point.

I think it's a Guy Thing.

Or just a dumb thing.


see more at Beth's