The Journey of 26.2

I knew I was really on the hook to complete this journey when I announced to my friends and family that I'd be there and begged for their moral support. The finish line was a long ways away, and some friendly faces along the course couldn't hurt. So still full of doubt, I went down to the expo and registered. For the marathon.

Now, one thing I learned during the race in Atlanta was it is essential to know exactly where the finish line is because spectators are unreliable sources of information. So, after the expo, I decided to drive the course in my car to get the lay of the land. Perhaps it was a bad omen when I got lost several times, gave up after mile 20 and headed home. I had been driving for over an hour and hadn't crossed the finish line. I tried to push the negative thoughts out of my mind.

But by the night before race day, full moon rising, I felt like a dead woman walking. I had been sentenced and would be facing my punishment in the morning. I tried to go about my normal activities and not sit around worrying about the journey ahead. I laid out my race day wardrobe, affixed my bib, and taped my name on my shirt then went to bed. Since I started running a lot, I am happy to say, I've slept well. Luckily, insomnia did not strike the eve before the race. At the very least, I'd be well rested.

When I woke marathon morn, I was nervous. I could not eat my standard pre-run breakfast. Food made me nauseous, but it was essential fuel. I ate as much as I could stomach, got dressed, then hit the road. I was running late, but had plenty of time to make it to the starting line on time. I was well on my way when I realized I left my watch at home. There wasn't enough time to turn around, so I had to forego the watch. Would it be a good thing to not know how fast (or slow) I was moving? I was on the fence.

It's true what they say. There is an amazing energy surrounding an event such as this. As a first time participant, I knew it would be an emotional roller coaster. As the national anthem was being sung at the start, I had to hold back tears. It was going to be a warm day, and it was best not get dehydrated before the race started. As the starting gun was fired, smoke and confetti blew in the high winds. The elite runners were well out of sight by the time I crossed the starting line, but I was officially on my way.

Quite honestly, those first few miles were a blur. The throng of runners surrounding me propelled me forward with an inexplicable momentum. Before I knew it, I was approaching mile 5 and that old leg pain started rearing it's ugly head. I knew I had to pace myself if I was going to make it, plus it was time to dip into my stash of pain remedies.

Nothing worked really well, or at all. By the time I was approaching mile 9, and that oh-too-familiar loop around the lake, I was second guessing my decision and questioning my sanity. Just past the 10 mile mark, the fire truck arrived on the scene. A runner down on the course, requiring emergency attention. The sound of sirens became all too familiar by the end of the day. This did not bode well for my optimism.

In fact, by the time I hit the half way point, I was ready to hang it up. A finisher's medal was not enough to propel me to the finish. The weather at this point was unforgiving. The sun had emerged, and temperatures rose into the 70's. Perfect for watching, not running a marathon. Then there was the wind. Gusts of up to 20-30 mph, and around the lake (miles 9 to 18) it felt like it was always in your face. I wanted out.

I'm not sure how, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I knew at this point that every step I took was one step closer to the finish. I remember looking around me and thinking the throng of runners had thinned considerably. Time was ticking, and I was being left in the dust. At each milestone, as my pace continued to slow, I had to reset my expectations. Realistically, would I make it?

As I approached mile 18, I realized I was entering unchartered territory. In all my training, I had never exceeded an 18-mile run. And, thanks to my injuries, it had been two months since that last 18-miler. They say you hit the wall around the 18-20 mile mark. Well, quite the opposite happened to me. It was at this point, that I knew I would somehow make it. I didn't care how long it took. I was going to finish.

Those final miles were not easy but at least I was in good spirits. I developed this mantra that I kept repeating to myself... the more you run, the sooner you'll be done. Yes, that was my motivator. I wanted to be finished more than anything. When I finally saw the 25 mile marker, I thought just over a mile to go. I wish I could say I ran the rest of it, but my body wasn't having it.

It was at the 26 mile marker with the finish line within sight when I knew I was there. As I ran towards the finish line, I could feel tears rising again. Tears of joy, tears of relief that it was finally over. I had completed my marathon. It was such an unbelievable experience and incredible journey. For the first time in months, I feel as though I can finally, truly rest.

AAA Tucson

That's my nickname for that little town out west. The MLB team where I grew up has a farm team out there. Listening to the sports report on the news I'd always hear mention of AAA Tucson. So, it kind of stuck. Little did I know that I'd narrowly miss calling that place home.

My first job out of university announced a shut down and relo 3 months into my stay. Only the chosen ones would be offered a position to move with the company, and only the really special chosen ones would be offered a position in AAA Tucson, insert mild sarcasm here. It was 10 years ago nearly to the day when I received an offer to move to AAA Tucson. As thrilling an idea as it was, I couldn't fathom picking up and relocating to a city and state where I knew no one. I had family and friends in Texas, and while I wasn't a native of Texas, as the saying goes, I got there as soon as I could... more mild sarcasm... sort of.

I wasn't prepared to pick up and leave all that was familiar and comfortable behind. So, I began the job search, and in good time, found a position at my current company. Hard to believe it's nearly been 10 years. I've come a long way since then, and it's had it's fair share of ups and downs. But, I can honestly look at my position right now and say I am happy. Well, except for one thing.

AAA Tucson. It comes full circle. Business brings me here, and I finally got a chance to see the place that I could have called home. I made the right decision.

Dress Rehearsal

That was the plan. Rise and shine early. Eat my pre-race breakfast. Don my running gear. And hit the lake for one last loop before the big event. This was going to be my physical and mental equivalent of a dress rehearsal.

Well, we are in the height of college football season and what does one do while watching football? Drink beer and eat chips and queso. I am no exception. I did have the sense to moderate my cerveza intake and restrict the volume of junk food to a reasonable amount. But in the end, my stomach did not appreciate cheese dinner.

So this morning, I was moving slow. I decided for a short run, it was totally and completely unnecessary to rise early. I stayed in bed, and relished the thought of sleeping in guilt free for many weeks to come... as soon as this race was over.

While waiting for inspiration to strike, I compiled my official marathon playlist complete with songs that I will want to sing along to, songs to distract me from the pain, and songs to motivate me as I'm hitting the wall. "I'm Still Standing" by Elton John is strategically placed as I'm finishing the ever brutal mile 20. I synced my ipod and was ready to go.

As I started my last training run, I quickly discovered my playlist was hosed. Apparently the songs didn't transfer in the right order, so no rhyme, no reason. Precisely the reason for the dress rehearsal. So I can sort the technical difficulties out in advance because, God knows, I'll have my fill of other problems come race day.

In general, I had a serious lack of energy due to the stark diet this morning, but beyond that, I was feeling pretty good. My usual leg pain didn't appear until mile 7. Progress. By the time I was approaching the car, I cannot deny that it was hurting... alot. I kept asking myself why am I doing this? How am I going to do this? Today was 9 miles. Essentially, I need to do that plus two more next weekend. I must be insane.

Saturday morning rant

OK, you know when you don't want to complain about something because in the long run you know it's a good thing, but you just can't help but complain anyway? That's me this morning. It's Saturday morning and the dogs are outside (see previous post) and barking. Alot. It's before 8 am. My neighbors love me. To avoid alienating the entire neighborhood, I bring them in. They run to the front windows and continue barking. I open the blinds, and what do I discover? The objects of their torment. Dump trucks and gravel trucks lining the street as far as the eye can see, idling none too quietly. The city is making some much needed repairs and improvements to the streets and sewers in my aging neighborhood. I'm happy to see my tax dollars being put to good use in such a visible way and so close to home, really I am. But is it too much to ask that this occur at a more civilized hour?

Ahhh, nothing like the sound of idling trucks and that annoying beeping sound when they throw it into reverse to start the weekend off right.

I'd hop in the car and escape to my local Starbucks, but wouldn't you know it, there's a truck blocking my driveway.

Dogs and Icing

And I'm not talking about the fluffy white stuff you put atop your favorite cupcakes. No I'm talking about sitting stationary with a bag of some frozen substance (I prefer peas over the traditional cube) placed over the aching body part du jour for extended periods of time.

Now, lets step back a minute and discuss this activity in general. I hate it. Especially when it's 30-something degrees outdoors, and I'm struggling to get warm and cozy inside. But ask any athlete or athletic supporter (haha... the age-old joke from Grease), and they swear by it. In preparation for the big race, I have decided this is a necessary evil and have begun icing with zest.

I swear my dogs have a sixth sense about these things and know the precise moment that I'm most immobile. Because it seems as soon as I get the ice pack strategically positioned and the numbing begins, one of them casually strolls to the door. Rising and walking is a challenge at this point. The muscles and joints are beyond stiff. It feels like one false step will cause a muscle to tear or ligament to snap. Then of course, there's that ice pack which inevitably hits the floor the minute I rise. Every time.

If I hobble over to the door and let the dog out, the second I get re-situated, dog #2 appears out of nowhere and hovers in front of the door. If I ignore them, they look at me with those pathetic brown eyes. How can I resist? Plus, what if they need to go? I mean really need to go. I don't want them going in the house, so I struggle over to the door, let them out, then return to torture myself on the couch.

They're content out of doors for oh, about 2.3 seconds. And mind you, it's 30-something degrees outside, so they can't possibly be left out there. Right? Nevermind the fact they have thick fur coats. So up I get again. Back to the door, ice to the floor, and let the dogs in. We do this over and over again. Why is it dogs are always on the wrong side of the door?

Finally they settle in and begin to entertain themselves. I get wrapped in ice once again. The numbing begins to have this great effect on my sore limbs. I feel no pain. I'm relaxed and beginning to appreciate this barbaric treatment, when damn, nature calls. Of course. I'm up again, my movement stirs the dogs, and back to the door they go. And so the vicious cycle begins... again.

They recommend 20 minutes every 2 hours, so at this rate, I'll be finished at a quarter to next Thursday. Perfect.

OMG!!!

I'm sitting here unwinding after another enlightening day at the office, laptop in lap, and in the background, listening to one of those home staging shows on HGTV, one of my absolute fav channels. They were discussing overhauling a mantle piece above the fire place, and I heard them discussing the use of a router. Anyone with half a clue would know they were discussing a wood-working tool... What's the first thing that came to mind when I heard the word router? And mind you, my ears totally perked up at the sound of it...

Cisco. Routers. IP addresses. Subnetting. Broadcast domains. Hop counts.

Arghh! I am officially a geek.

Have I lost my sense of adventure?

This thought crossed my mind today while I was at the office. I have a business trip next week that's forcing me into unchartered territory. Business travel in general is new to me. I made a career change earlier this year that made my comfortable desk job a thing of the past. Not that I'm now a door to door salesman, but certainly a trip or two a month isn't unheard of. But the nature of this trip is something I have never experienced. It's virtually a scouting mission, and I'm the technical expert. Right.

Not that I doubt my ability as much as I hate being ill-prepared. In my working world, I like planning, I like predictability, and I like organization. This trip is going to be anything but that. When I found out about it... the weekend after Thanksgiving I might add... I was dreading it immediately. It's almost as though I feel inconvenienced to have to leave my comfortable desk and home. And for what? To go on this trip which will undoubtedly result in no personal gain?

Well, as I was at my desk this afternoon and I had this a ha moment, I thought I have the wrong mindset. Happiness, satisfaction, all of those pleasantries in life are a choice. We have the power to change our circumstances. Instead of dreading this trip, I should be welcoming the challenge, the adventure of it all. Hence my decision du jour to run the marathon. I think it'll be a fun experience. I'm participating for the adventure of it all.

Funny how conservative we become when it matters. As adults, we often describe it as being responsible. But, I think when it comes down to it, we're just too cautious. We've lost our sense of adventure, and I am certainly no exception.

Grounded

Or not as the case may be. I have been given a reprieve and a bit more fuel to add to the I-am-a-hypochondriac fire. I made my way to the orthopedic yesterday, and after a series of x-rays and poking and prodding, discovered that there's nothing wrong with me. Awesome. This takes me back to a running stint a few years ago when I was convinced I had hip problems. Another trip to another specialist (surely I'm not to blame for our rising healthcare costs!). What did he tell me? The pain I was describing was not near my hips and get thee to a physical therapist. Uh, yeah... Innocent mistake.

I know I'm not completely out of my mind. I have been running in pain the last couple of months, but I'm beginning to think I'm a complete wimp. God help me if I ever face child birth. My mother after talking to one of her running friends told me that I simply need to tough it out. Plus a little ice, ice, and more ice baby. Alright, I've mentally embraced my limitations. I know I won't be breaking any land speed records, and I know it won't come easy. But in the end, I know I can do it.

So last night I went to pull the trigger. To register for the marathon online. And what to my wondering eyes should appear? Online registration is closed. If I'm going to run this event, I must go to the expo race day weekend and sign up in person. Yet another hurdle. The way I see it this event and all of its many hurdles are character building, and by the end of it, I'll have the toughest in town.

Less than two weeks to go... plenty of time to think, and rethink, and rethink it again...

Turkey Trot

Perhaps it's the nature of the beast, but when you get my family together we become quite the competitive bunch. I have active parents and three married sisters, and over the years, we have mastered the art of the one-ups-man-ship in a family friendly manner. Several years ago we started the tradition of the turkey trot on Thanksgiving morning, which generally consisted of anyone willing to rise to the challenge du jour running several miles before indulging in the inevitable calorie-fest later that day. This year we took it to a whole new level and selected the Atlanta Half-Marathon as our event of choice. We definitely separated the men from the boys this year, and only four of us were crazy enough to sign up for the event, yours truly, my two older sisters and one brother-in-law.

There's nothing like rising at 5:30 am, dragging yourself out of a toasty warm bed, to go stand in the 30-something degree weather before running 13.1 miles. Might I add that 5:30 am Atlanta time is 4:30 am my time. Well before the crack of dawn. In fact it was still dark at the start of the race. Got to love that. Definitely my idea of a vacation.

I had my hesitations about running this event. I wasn't sure how my body would tolerate the stress of traveling in addition to the nerves of running such a race. Not to mention the fact that despite weeks of light (aka no) running, I still haven't overcome my injuries. I was preparing for the worst.

Well, the event went much smoother than expected. I made it to the start of the race without significant incident, then proceeded to start the trek down Peachtree St. Seriously, I think 12 of our 13.1 miles were run down this one road, as it winds it's way through the greater Atlanta area. Having never really gotten out and about in the city, my sister lives in the northern burbs, the race was a great way to see the city. Back to the race.

I went on a 9-mile training run last weekend, not the most pleasant , so I wasn't surprised when the old familiar aches and pains started kicking in around mile 2.5. This was a little earlier than I had expected, which made the thought of finishing the 13.1 miles a bit daunting, but I trudged on. I had to start walking a bit here and there if I was going to get to the finish line, and was immediately left in the dust by the last of my family members. I was on my own to mentally tough it out.

Early on, I developed the strategy of walking the first minute or two of each mile, then running to the next mile marker as fast as possible, then repeat. When I made it to mile 6, I started to get optimistic. At mile 7, the sports beans we being handed out. Instant energizer, plus it was quite comical to see these things scattered everywhere about the street. At mile 9, I saw my family cheerleaders. At mile 10, I knew I would make it. Just a 5K to go.

Now it is quite common to have spectators along these courses cheering you on, especially for such a large event. This one also had a full marathon running along side us. There are significantly more of them along the last mile or so, urging you towards the finish line. Having not studied the course too closely, I was ecstatic when I heard one of these course liners yell "1 mile to go!" I was going to make it, but how odd... I never saw the 12 mile marker. I tried to run it out, but when I finally did see the 12 mile marker, at the top of a hill, I knew a little more walking would be necessary. Despite all the walking, when I crossed the finish line, I had finished my fastest half-marathon to date... 2:21:48. And to think this was under such adverse conditions.

I'm addicted to that moment of triumph. In fact, as I was flying back to Texas last night, reading my November copy of Runner's World, an issue highlighting the New York City Marathon, I couldn't help but think I want to do it. I want to run the marathon. It's two weeks from today. The one I've been preparing for. I haven't signed up yet. There's one more hurdle standing in my way. A doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, which will determine if my marathon dreams will come true... well, this year at least. There's no doubt in my mind that it'll happen next year. As I said, I'm addicted.

Momentary Lapses

Yesterday, I bravely navigated the red tape of the passport office, quite successfully I might add, but not without a couple of hiccups. The paperwork has been sitting on my kitchen counter for weeks now, and I finally took the plunge. A friend of mine is on temporary assignment in London and has been none to subtly suggesting that I should visit before his return to the States. I nearly booked that flight to London a couple of times over the last few hectic weeks. Plus you never know when my latest assignment at the office might take me north of the border.

All of this was truly a mute point, seeing as my passport expired in January. I got it as I was graduating from college, and a friend of mine and I were planning a European tour to celebrate. The picture says it all. Young, bright eyed, naive. Amazingly enough, ten years have passed, and it was time to renew.

I went down to my local post office to do the dirty deed and proceeded to wait for the requisite 30 minutes and fill out the required paperwork. I had filled some forms out that I found online, but was informed those were not accepted here because they had the catch phrase "by mail" on it. Hello, anyone heard of a Sharpie?

As I'm called into the office, I ask the passport officer if it's truly necessary that I fill in an emergency contact. He says yes, and I proceed to scribble in my standard response. My mother. They require phone numbers and address of said contact too, so I continue to scribble away. Until it hit me. What was my parents' street address????? They have lived in that house for 18 years. Hell, I, myself, lived in that house. I could not remember the street number to save my life. 7745, or was it 7735? Nope, definitely 7745. I'm rattled. I'm definitely going to the big house for falsifying information on a federal form. I can remember both of my parents date and city of birth, also required information, but not where they live. Clearly I need to visit more often.

All the blanks are filled, to the best of my ability, and I hand the application over to the officer. What does he say to me? You've never been married??? Me meekly, No. Yes, apparently whether or not you've walked down the aisle is relevant when our government is assessing if you should be allowed to leave the country. In his defense, the officer probably took one look at me and thought she's hot. How could she have never been married. I was wearing a dress yesterday, uber cute. Either that or he saw my birth date and thought she's how old and never been married??? I'm counting on the former.

I filled out my forms, signed my checks and took the oath. Could he see my hand shaking as I solemnly vowed that all information contained in these documents was true? Let's hope not. I'm going to need that passport to escape to a deserted tropical island where I will not be judged by my marital status and where I can get some much needed rest and relaxation.

BTW, for those wondering, my parents street number is 2426. I was close.

Is my glass half full?

Pessimism versus realism? Po-tay-toe, po-ta-toe. It's all semantics. I've always thought I leaned towards the glass is half empty side of the fence. Optimism is a word that was rarely in my vocabulary. I'm not quite sure why. I've had quite a bit of good fortune in my life. Family, friends, career. OK, so the love life has had plenty of lackluster moments, but can I really complain? In general, I have a positive outlook. I just don't dare call it optimism. I used to say expect the worst, hope for the best. My thought was I'd never be disappointed... realism.

Well, lately I've been toeing the optimism line, and last weekend, I was caught. I ran in a half marathon event and had an interesting time of it. Now, I know I talk about running a lot, but training for a marathon has become all consuming. I'm either running, recovering from running, or thinking about running these days. It's exhausting, both literally and figuratively. I've got just under six weeks to go until marathon day and was beginning to think I could do it. I've run 18 miles and felt I had enough fuel in the tank at the end to run several more. I've also run 18 miles and thought there's no way I can run another inch. Sunday's half-marathon was more extreme than that second 18-mile run.

This whole mess has been building up over the last month. It started with a new pair of shoes. What was supposed to be the cure-all, turned into the problem. They were clown shoes, too big, which led to plenty of foot and knee pain. I did manage to parlay that into a weekend of sleeping in, aka 'resting my injured limbs,' but in the end it reared it's ugly head. Right in the middle of the half-marathon as a matter of fact. It's a very overwhelming feeling to think you can't continue running knowing that you're still 7 miles from the finish line.

That was me. In enough pain that by the final mile, I could barely run one consecutive minute. How was I supposed to run a full marathon, when I can barely finish a half? I saw the months of training and my marathon dreams going down the drain. I was aggravated, infuriated, and defiant. I can not be defeated by this. I truly thought I was going to, am going to, may still have to give up. I laid on the couch after the run with ice packs. I scheduled one of those oh-so-pleasant sports massages. I've taken plenty of ibuprofen. And now, I can almost walk without a hint of pain. I am thinking about lacing up my running shoes again. And I'm thinking once again I can do it.

Tears

I'm sitting here thinking that I can't remember the last time I cried. It's been many months. They say running triggers endorphins, those feel good hormones. Perhaps that why I've been in a such a good mood the last few months. Well tonight, that ended. I saw something that brought tears to my eyes. I was catching up on my friends' latest goings on by reading their blogs. While I hate this electronic media, I do find that it's much easier to keep up with everyone with just the click of a mouse.

One of my favorites blogs to read is that of a college friend. She and her husband (also a friend from college) have one of those picture perfect marriages and the cutest little girl to go along with it. Well, the first post on their blog began with a cute family picture complete with the four-legged member of the family. Bailey, their dog. I remember when they got him back when we were all in school. It was a popular decision in our college years. So popular in fact that most of my friends, myself included, acquired four-legged friends while we were in school.

My most recent birthday is just another reminder of how many years ago those college years were. Time doesn't stand still for us or our beloved pets. I saw my friend a couple of weeks ago and she mentioned that sweet Bailey was diagnosed with cancer, and tonight's photo was the last complete family photo with him. Just the thought brings tears to my eyes again, and I can't decide why this is. Is it because I knew what a great dog he was and how my friend and her family loved him? Or, is it because I know some day I too will be facing the same situation with my four-legged friends? It's heart wrenching to think about. To have those sweet, unfaltering, loyal souls taken from our lives.

Scary moment

Last night was one of my traditional quiet Friday nights. As I prepare for this marathon, Saturday mornings have been starting with pre-dawn long runs, so Friday is general pretty lame and early to bed. If I venture out at all, it's usually running a quick errand here or there, maybe grabbing dinner with a friend, but that's about it. Last night wasn't much of an exception. I was out on one of those errands, when I decided to stop in a nearby home goods store. I've been in my house for a year, and am still struggling with decorating it. I go into this type of store often, looking for inspiration, and generally leave empty-handed. Last night wasn't much different.

As I was checking out (I bought some wine glasses, can never have too many of those), I was admiring a chair that was nearby. It was black and white hounds-tooth. Very cute, very stylish, but generally didn't match my decor, as if that should stop me. I was talking to the cashier about it, and thought (out loud) that perhaps it just might match my guest bedroom decor, which of course meant my cat would take to sleeping in said new chair. As soon as I said it, I wish I hadn't. It triggered this out of body experience, and forced me to look at myself as this woman would have seen me. This is what she would have seen... crazy cat lady frump girl. Yes that was me last night. I'm embarrassed to admit it.

So had you been there too, this is what you would have seen. Me, in all my unmade up self. I had my hair in a ponytail, and most of the morning's makeup had been wiped away. I was wearing my absolute favorite, should probably be barred from ever leaving the house again, probably in need of a good washing, oversized college sweatshirt, a pair of workout pants that I had in fact slept in the night before, and a pair of flip flops. At least I wasn't wearing house slippers! In my defense, I had been experiencing laundry issues. My washer and dryer were on the fritz, so my wardrobe options were limited. And it was one of the first chilly evenings of the fall, so I was still adapting to dressing for cool weather.

I've often thought at times like this, who am I trying to impress. No one. I'm out running errands, not looking to pick up men. But I realize that I still care about people's perception of me. I've gone out and acquired over 100 lbs of dogs to prove to the world that despite being single, I am not a crazy cat lady. And yet, one misstep out the door last night, and my appearance screams sad, single crazy cat lady. It was indeed a scary moment. I think this moment has triggered in me a need to evolve. I have the new washer and dryer installed and ready to go. Wardrobe malfunctions are a thing of the past! I think I'll go shopping and pick up some uber-feminine new clothes for the fall. Retail therapy is always a good idea. I may be single, but I'd rather be fabulous and single any day. Maybe I'll even pick up a chic, rhinestone collar for the cat.

Oops!

So I've tried to regroup and refocus on my training efforts this week. It was and continues to be much needed. I'm beyond midpoint of the marathon training schedule, and without a doubt, have burned out. Well, at one point last night I decided that I would hit the treadmill (the path of least resistance in my mind) for a quick 30 minute run. Start to finish, warm up to cool down, 30 minutes. That's it. I figured it was more important to do any amount of running regularly during the week, than focus on running 4 miles here, 6 miles there... Right now, I just need to keep moving. Once I've conquered that, I'll work on distance. So last night, I did my blitz run on the treadmill, and was quite satisfied with myself. All day today I've been telling myself that tonight there'd be more of the same. So, what do I do? Come home, make dinner, enjoy a little down time, and oops, did I mention sip two glasses of wine? Hmmm. That's going to be a challenge to follow up with a 30 minute anything other than couch sittin'. Yeah, I'm motivated...

Victory is mine

It was a long and arduous battle, but I knew if I stayed focused I could do it. I could defeat my enemy. That container of mini chocolate chip cookies just staring at me, mocking me. I showed them. They are no longer, and I... I'm totally, completely dissatisfied with my behavior. This is expected, given my track record. I have no will power. This is why there is generally no junk food in the house. I have no self control. I must rise up and defeat the bag of chips or candy or cookies, or how about that pint of ice cream? Yeah, I should know better than to allow that stuff across my threshold. It's not like I can ignore it, or throw it away. Oh no. I must consume every last bit. I tell myself, once it's gone I can refocus. Get back on track. But until it's gone, I can't do anything but think about it. It's all consuming. Well, the junk is officially gone now. I can get back on track. Now I know why I'm training for the marathon... to undo that pint of ice create, bag of chips, handful of candy, and bucket of mini chocolate cookies.

Is it 1988 again?

Ladies and gentlemen, please step into my time machine. It's not like I was ever the coolest kid in class, but, I certainly would like to think that I have improved by leaps and bounds since then. Well tonight, I most definitely took it to a whole new level. When I found out what event was taking place right here, in town, tonight, I just knew I had to be a part of it. Plus, I also knew that there's no way anyone would be fighting over tickets to the corporate suite for this event. Well, I got my tickets, I sat in that corporate suite, and I rocked out to what was quite possibly the coolest concert since 1987. Oh yeah, that's right, the New Kids On The Block were in town, and I was right there. Jealous?

Dyn-o-mite!

I just had one of those a-ha kind of moments. I'm sitting here watching the recent cult classic Napoleon Dynamite and came to the scary realization that one of my recent exes eerily resembles a rapidly approaching thirty-year-old version of Napoleon. It's absolutely horrifying! He has a similar physique, that same "duh" kind of expression on his face on most occasions, much smaller glasses, much less hair, and the personality of a social reject. Had I seen this movie before I agreed to go out with him, it may never have happened. I'm still completely dismayed that it happened at all. More on this topic later. In the meantime, I will continue to get a laugh at this flick, and at least I can look back and laugh at that not-so-little misstep.

Exhaustified

I heard this "word" while watching a remake of a classic movie of one of my favorite novels... Little Women. It's a story about four sisters, which I am one of four girls in my family. I read it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the story. But, my point here is this made up word, which I have adopted into my everyday vocabulary. Spoken by a young Kirsten Dunst, the youngest of the four girls in the remake, she quite often in the film uses big words, albeit made up words, to sound grown-up like her older sisters. Exhaustified.

It's the epitome of how I feel right now. I work full time, I'm a full time homemaker, and I'm the full time guardian of a small zoo. Those around me always comment about how they thought working out was supposed to energize you. With all the running, if this theory were true, I should be bouncing off the walls. I'm not. I have this theory that it could be diet related. Maybe I'm not eating enough, maybe I'm not getting enough protein, who knows. Could be, but I truly believe it's because, I'm performing this juggling act day in and day out... all by myself.

Is it a bad idea to want to get married, just so there is someone to help around the house?

Another year older, another day wiser

In the last 24 hours, I have learned the following... that 0 miles combined with 20 miles is not only a bad idea, but also not feasible, that all guys are jerks, and that I am a completely irrational individual. I suppose that last part could be misconstrued as simply being female. So back to the 20 miles. I was seriously optimistic, once I started the morning run at the lake today. Now granted, I was grumbling the whole way from dragging myself out of bed at 5:15 to arriving in the parking lot, but once I got moving, I thought I can do this. About mile 3, which is way to early to be having complications, I started experiencing serious knee pain. I blame the lacing of the shoes, but untying and retying does not seem to work. I finished the first loop around the lake (9 miles for those not familiar) and am gearing up for the second. I can not physically do it. It hurt to walk, it hurt to run, and rather than destroying my legs just to finish, I stop and turn around. Today, I completed a mere 13 miles. A half marathon. And I feel like a complete failure. As I've said before, perspective does strange things to us.

So on to the all guys are jerks bit. I join some friends at a bar to enjoy a cold beer (or two) and watch a great football game. Something happened over the course of the afternoon. I'm not sure what it was, but I wound up leaving in the foulest mood. Right before I left, I declared that one of the parties present was rude. He was apologizing, but I simply dismissed it as being insincere. Another party present mentioned he may not be joining the birthday festivities later on this evening, which I also considered rude. These two guys have completely destroyed my mood, hopefully not for the night. Now, I've always known I'm a head case at least where guys are concerned, but today it is a fact staring me in the face, not to be ignored. That's where the irrational part comes in to play.

Insincerity is high on my list of undesirable traits. I feel like a lot of people just pay me lip service (you can insert guys here if you'd like). I think that if everything people said to me were true, I wouldn't be in the single and cynical state that I find myself in now. As I was departing the bar this afternoon to head home and rest up before dinner, I felt as though they were ushering me out. In quite a condescending manner I might add. It just felt as though they really couldn't care if I stayed, their enjoyment would be the same one way or the other. This feeling, plus a healthy dose of paranoia, just set me off. Hence the irrational part. Now, I'm home. The dinner outing gets going in 2 hours, and I'm in a terrible mood. I really need an attitude change and fast.

Now the interesting twist to this grumpiness, and I know I can pretend it is not truly the case, is the behavior of these guys. I have know both of them for quite some time, and neither of them have ever shown any genuine interest in me. In fact, it seems to me that they are so disinterested, that they go out of their way to shove me off, hence the condescending ushering. It's not at though I'm throwing myself at them either. I'm not. I'm being sociable, but that's about the extent of it. Now I'm wondering, is my foul mood truly because they have behaved rudely, or do I think they are rude because they're not fawning over me. As I was saying, I'm quite irrational.

Happy Birthday to Me

It's funny how a day that I once looked forward to with the same enthusiasm as Christmas, now seems like just another ordinary day. I've been hearing Stevie Wonder in my head all day today as I've had that thought. There have been special moments and well wishes, but in general, another year older is just another year. Tomorrow night (although no longer my actual birthday) will be the night of festivities. It's hard to go out and celebrate with a 6:30 am, 20-mile run looming in the morning. So tonight, I will go to bed early and rest up. Tomorrow, I will sprinkle of hint of extraordinary over what seems to be just another ordinary day.

Motivation, wherefore art thou?

I'm on a quest for the amateur runner's holy grail. The marathon. I've been training for nearly three months now, have finished a 20K race in just over 2 hours, and have reached a max distance of 18 miles. So far. And what else have I done? Not laced up my shoes once this week. It's Wednesday night. Now granted, I did just return from a business trip at 10 o-clock last night, and did have to get up at quarter to 5 the morning before to make my crack o' dawn flight. So, I am tired and rightfully so. And today's return to the office was no less than chaotic. But, even so, I still have no motivation to get moving. I love the post-run high that I get, and that feel-good mood that lasts and lasts. But still, I can't seem to drag myself off the couch. I adopted this idea from my sister years ago where I place stars (think back to elementary school) on my calendar on days that I work out. I love that sense of accomplishment that I get when I step back and look at the calendar at the end of a month, and see lots of stars. This month so far, the calendar is somewhat bare. Have I mentioned that my birthday is in two days? I wonder if this is causing the mental block?

The Mouth of a Sailor

It's amazing how just one run in with a typical member of the male species could turn a sweet college freshman into a foul-mouthed sailor. That was me several moons ago. Not a single four-letter word passed through my lips until what I think goes down as my first break-up. No point dwelling on my ancient past. My whole point here is that while slow to adopt such colorful language I have more than made up for lost time. My language these days can be quite atrocious at times. As of late, it definitely classifies as such. And what leads me to talk in such a ladylike manner? Men. Of course. And it still goes back to that last one. After a solid week of silence, I could bear it no longer. I had to know, so what do I do? I send him a non-threatening, you're probably over me, but I just wanted to make sure kind of email. And what do I get? Well, perhaps I should quickly say what I expected to get. An email. More than likely saying I am over you, but an email nonetheless. So back to what I got. Zip, zilch, nada. Absolutely ridiculous. I am really having to restrain myself here. Four-letter words are crossing my mind left and right. The more I think I can read people, the more often I am proven wrong. He really didn't strike me as the arrogant, self-absorbed, disrespectful jack-... Restraint! Restraint! At this point, I can only hope that he is so embarrassed by his behavior that he can't bear to speak to me... Ever. Again. Yeah, right. Sorry, son of a...

Blasphemy

Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Never get comfortable in a relationship. Because the moment you're all smug and thinking you've got this one figured out, you never hear from him again. Really. That's how it works. That's what happens. At least that's how it happens to me. Not a word for nearly a week, and for several weeks before that, it really was hit or miss. He was busy. People do get busy. He's important. He does very important things for work. That's what he fed me, and I was eating it up. But now, sitting on the other side of the collapse, I can see clearly. He just wasn't that into me. Oh how I hate that line! That whole episode of SATC just sucked, and how that Greg Behrendt character created a cult following based solely on that line is completely ridiculous. As if it were a new age of enlightenment. Please. Regardless, the fact remains. He has lost interest. When did it become socially acceptable to completely drop communication with someone without so much as an explanation? Is it too much to ask for a simple "I'm sorry, this isn't going to work." I thought with age, a certain degree of maturity came along, especially in the realm of relationships. Apparently not. This one hadn't one ounce of common courtesy. Blasphemy. No way that was magic that I spoke of before. Couldn't have been. Wow, I'm in such a lovely mental state.

The drought has ended

If you look outside right now, you might think otherwise. It's mid July in Texas. I've seen more 99 and 100 degree days than I'd care to at this stage of the summer. My poor lawn has shriveled up after enduring the sun's relentless rays. And yet, I declare that the drought is indeed over. I am posting to this blog once again. So what has inspired me to channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw? The need to document the events of the last 24 hours, or really just those of yesterday evening. Before I commence, I must revisit my declaration of several months ago. It's time to change. Let the social experiment unfurl. Well, I did just that.

I must admit my performance was much stronger in some arenas than others, but I indeed set down that path. I unleashed the Internet hounds on my social life and was instantly overwhelmed. Judging from my dedication to this blog, you can imagine my ability, or really inability, to maintain viable communication via any electronic media. I blame it on my PC based work environment. I'm hacking away at a keyboard and staring at a monitor all day long, so why would I want to spend my evening doing such? Please ignore the fact that I'm doing so now. So the experiment started out fast and furiously, and I failed miserably. Sorry gentlemen. The lure of meeting you was not enough to get me to my laptop. Except for one.

I'm not sure what it was that kept me engaged, but I was and still am. I survived making that first phone call, which even for me, was a terribly nerve racking experience. And I equally survived that first date. It took us a month to get our schedules aligned enough to sit down to dinner and wine together. It really was no easy feat. Mother Nature and O'Hare airport were doing their darndest to keep us apart. But I finally made it home, and we finally met. That date was seven hours long. I think we must had been playing catch up since it took us so long to get together. Who would have guessed that our second date would be no less than three weeks later.

Well, miraculously, our schedules aligned once again last night. The place, a wine bar that was perfectly empty on a Monday night. We sat at the bar tasted the wine, sampled the fare, and all in all had a fantastic time. When the house lights were turned up, we didn't go home. Instead, we strolled through my favorite little park, which was dimly lit by the city lights and moon. It was an amazing evening, and after a mere six hours, we decided to say goodnight. But really, there was one particular moment in the evening that inspired me to sit down and write this.

I am reminded of Sleepless in Seattle, a scene where Tom Hanks' character is talking about taking his late wife's hand for the first time and describes it as being "magic." Yes, I'm a sucker for a good chick-flick. Well, there was a moment last night where I couldn't think of anything else. "Magic." We were sitting at the bar, and he took my hand in his. This was a first. Instantly, I could think of nothing other than the warmth of his hand on mine. I felt flush, my mind turned to mush. I could barely focus or form a coherent sentence. It was magnetic. It was chemistry. It was utterly fascinating. Magic.

Craigslist Craze

Holy cow! Less than 36 hours after I posted a heap of both useless and useful things on craigslist, everything was gone. It's utterly amazing. What's frustrating about the things I was selling is the fact that I'm totally convinced I could have gotten more money for them. There was no negotiating. People were more than willing to give me what I was asking... telltale signs that money was left on the table. Better luck next time. Now as for the endless supply of things I was giving away, I'm thoroughly amazed what people will take. As a friend of mine said, one man's trash... Oh, it is so true. Now there is still plenty laying around that I neither gave away nor sold. In fact, as I was piling this stuff in a box to give away, I came to the general conclusion that I need to have a garage sale. My first ever. Weekend after next. Time to fish or cut bait. Everything must go. All dark depths of closets with be cleaned out. The clutter will be sold or donated. This should be a cleansing process. That, and truly exhausting.

Clutter

Clutter, clutter everywhere and not a drop to drink... oh wait, that's water. Ever notice how you can't think clearly when there's chaos around you? That's precisely me. I used to think I was an organized slob. My desk at the office was always layers upon layers of scattered paper, and if someone asked me a question about something, I knew exactly which pile to forage through and how deep I needed delve. Well, something must have happened on the way to the forum, because nowadays, clutter is my worst enemy. When surrounded by a mess, I lose focus, productivity, and motivation. I get so distracted at times, that I'm almost paralyzed. Perhaps this is what leads to what I like to call my slothiness. It always seems as though there are endless closets to clean out, never ending chores to be done, and countless unfinished projects. How can you move forward by leaps and bounds with all this crap weighing you down? That's where I feel like I am now. Wanting desperately to move forward and make progress, but perpetually hindered by this clutter.

I can remember when I was in grad school (for the record not all that long ago) whenever I was faced with a serious deadline, be it an exam or paper, my apartment always got really clean. It's like I couldn't get started studying or writing before everything was put away and in its proper place. (Perhaps this is another argument to go back to school, yet again.) The difference is back then the cleaning frenzy was mostly an act of procrastination, once everything was in place there was nothing else to distract me. Now, it needs to be a conscious, deliberate act to free myself from this mess. I am finding that the more I do, the more inspired I am to accomplish more things and the more at peace I am with my surroundings.

So, that being said, it's time to have a heyday on craigslist. Clutter be gone, once and for all!

Changes in Attitude

A good attitude is not by coincidence but by choice. I am reminded of a bumper sticker my father prominently displayed on the refrigerator during my teenage years. Keep a good attitude. It's a very simple sentiment, but to a moody adolescent, it's a lost cause. Fast forward 10-20 some odd years... I'm not sure just how many it really has been, and I really don't want to be reminded right now. But it's been several to say the least, and at this stage of my life, I have no excuse. A good attitude is absolutely by choice, all legal (and illegal) mood enhancing drugs aside. I am in control of my own circumstances. If something is not working I can change it. Well, that's all well and good, but putting it into practice is another thing. Over the years, I have been both personally and professionally unsatisfied, and I have done very little about it. Thankfully, professionally, things have taken a fantastic turn for the better. I hate that I have to keep reminding myself of that fact on those days where I find myself grumbling at the office. Luckily they are fewer and farther between, but to tie me over between good days, I have found a new solution. Running! After an exquisitely tough run last night, I found myself on this ridiculous runner's high all day today. I was like a giddy school girl at the office. I was on cloud nine, and there was nothing anyone could do to derail that. It's a lovely thing.

The times they are a changin'

One season inevitably fades into the next. Just as winter thaws into spring, spring always warms into summer. The days are getting longer, and the chill is almost completely out of the air. We are on the cusp of summer, and I refuse to be the grasshopper. Many changes have come my way over the years, and they continue to surprise me daily. In the words of Jimmy Buffett, changes in attitude, changes in latitude... where is my margarita? Change always presents opportunities for failure and success, and I've certainly had my fair share of both. But I think this summer I shall be the ant. Time for a little experiment. I want there to be much success and not simply by chance, but by hard, concerted effort. Wish me luck.

Rainy Day

It's black. It's white. I look outside and all I see is grey. But alas, there is peace.

Gentleman's Jack, Part II

Another Saturday night rolls around, it's been a solid two-three weeks since we first met, and in the meantime, I've met don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover guy. I'm at dinner with some college friends, which tends to be an early night kind of crowd, so I make plans to meet friends in town. I leave a message for my southern gentlemen and tell him that I'll be in the neighborhood later, and that I'd call to see if he's out and about. Well, during dinner at my friend's house, my phone must have rung no less than a thousand times, seriously. So I talk to him, tell him I'm heading out, and he suggests I meet him at a "party" at his friend's place. I was early and had some time to kill before my friends emerged from the sporting event of the night, so I figured why not. This party was just a stone's throw from the arena anyways. My friends could join me there after the game.

So, I know in my past I've had the reputation of being a bit naive, but I thought that I had outgrown it. I show up at this "party" only to find him and a couple of friends hanging out watching more college football and drinking. He was exceedingly affectionate, which objectively I would say is quite flattering. It was an awkward grouping. I don't like public displays, and his friends appeared to have the personality of a rock. There came a point where they (the friends) went into the kitchen, and it was suggested that I don't look. Yes, there were hard core drugs in use that night. My gentleman declared he had never nor would ever use such substances, but had no problem drinking his weight in alcohol. Now, I wasn't about to go call the cops. I wasn't born yesterday, I know these things go on. But the night was beginning to spiral, my friends had left the game and were now at a local bar, and I was getting antsy.

So we leave with me as designated driver. The memory is faded, but for some inexplicable reason, we stop by his place before heading to the bar. It was in the neighborhood, but I'm sure it wasn't merely a show-and-tell visit. We got to his place, and he poured a glass of wine for each of us. Now one thing I remember from our first meeting was the physical chemistry the two of us had. This is a very important aspect of a relationship and should not be taken lightly. Well, that night was no different, except that the moons had aligned that day and pretty much guaranteed that there was a hard and fast line that night. I was not to be toiled with, completely. Never have I felt physically threatened until that evening. I have traipsed down urban streets on my own, drunk, and felt completely safe, but that night I was hanging on by a mere thread. Any time I objected he kept telling me to relax. Any time I tried to escape he overpowered me. There was a distinct moment where I felt completely helpless. I was at the brink, and I refused to be a victim. I gave a defiant no, I'm leaving, which certainly killed any illusion of any mood. I was apologetic implying that it's my fault, I shouldn't have gone upstairs with him, blah, blah, blah. Respectable people don't get accused of rape, attempted or otherwise, and I was trying to avoid that sentiment. There was much drinking involved, things started getting out of hand, but bottom line, they didn't. Night's over, let's move on.

Which was what I was thinking, night's over, I'm meeting my friends at the bar. Except that it wasn't over. He insisted on joining me. So there we were at the bar having yet another drink, meanwhile my friend's are within shouting distance and we're not talking to them. Now, there were still moments as we sat at that bar, as he ordered drink after drink and quite often without even touching the previous one, that I was still indescribably attracted to him. Physical passion is a dangerous thing. But I couldn't deny the fact that I was experiencing first-hand a complete and total train wreck, and I had to leave. I walk out the door, twelve untouched drinks later, bid him goodnight, and leave. I could finally breathe. I was proud of myself for not waiting for him to decide to go, to take control of my happiness and at that moment most importantly my safety.

The icing on the cake of the night that will live in infamy in my mind came the morning after. I got a message from the gentleman asking where I had disappeared the night before. My simple response, "don't you remember me saying goodbye?"

Gentleman's Jack, Part I

Whiskey. A popular drink amongst Southern men. If I'm not mistaken this is what the charming, aforementioned Southern gentleman was drinking the afternoon we met. Yes, it was afternoon. College football was on. I had secured a seat at the bar with a friend of mine and was enjoying watching my team play. There was a newspaper on the bar, left by the previous inhabitant of my seat, which the charmer asked to look at. That opened all lines of communications. As I've said before, I can talk to a brick wall, and when that brick wall is cute with a southern drawl, I'll talk its ear off. So we got along quite well, and talked for a couple of hours (sound familiar?), much to my friend's dismay. It is not appropriate cat and mouse game play, you see. I don't subscribe to that behavior. If I like someone, I like someone. If I don't, I don't. Now, I can't prove my theory is better than any other, but it's certainly more suited for my personality. So that afternoon numbers and business cards were exchanged, and not in the sleazy, I'll ask but never use it sense. He actually, quite enthusiastically I might add, asked me to dinner the following Monday. Wow, this one swept me off my feet. He left early to meet friends at another bar, and we parted for the day. My friend wouldn't haven't it any other way.

So Monday came and there was no word from his end, so I feign an insane workload and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps he was just drunk and didn't seriously invite me to dinner. I gave him an out, and myself a graceful exit. I thought I'd never hear from him again, when he responds claiming death in the family, he had to go home but will call upon his return. Have I mentioned that his home is the same as the beloved vacation spot of me and my family? Match made in heaven, right? So he returns, and I think there was another mismatched outing, but I refused to give up.

In a land far, far away

Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.

As I was road-tripping out of town last Friday night, I noticed a bright light in the sky in front of me. I was debating whether or not I was seeing a plane or a star or even possibly a UFO. When the light stayed in one place, I ruled out plane, and being of sound mind, I pretty much declared not a UFO either. That left star, and then I thought, duh... It's bright, it's constant, it's practically the first star in the sky... must be the North Star. And then I remembered... I was heading south.

We're always told not to judge a book by its cover. I must admit that I am frequently sucked in by eye candy. We're so conditioned to immediate, rapid response that we can't be bothered to open the cover and read the inside flap. I try to restrict my shortsightedness to the retail world, but every now and then, it bites me in everyday social interaction. I believe this is why I was so quick to leave my new acquaintance empty-handed on that oh-so fateful night many moons ago.

I was not immediately drawn to him. He was on the short side (still taller than me I might add), thin, and didn't ooze masculinity. I have very traditional views on male and female roles, and he didn't scream protector, provider to me at all, which is really funny because if someone tried to tell me that a woman's place is barefoot in the kitchen, I would tell them precisely where they could shove it. But against my instinct I went out with him. And then I went out with him again. And might I mention again?

He worked hard just to see me those first weeks. You might say that he chased me early on, but I'd hate to use such a trite phrase to describe the situation. It implies my disinterest, which was certainly not the case. I liken the situation to that age-old remark... A beautiful person, the better you know them, may become more and more unattractive. An "ugly" person, the better you know them may become more and more beautiful. I pause to use the term "ugly" here... that's something he's made me very aware of. It's a horrible thing to say about something that's completely out of someone's control... (please ignore the hoards of plastic surgeons standing in line to perform the next extreme makeover) Now, I am not implying that he's unattractive, just that I was so willing to throw this one away because the cover wasn't exactly what I was looking for right there, right then. Have I mentioned yet the charming, Southern gentleman that I had met the day before that still had me swooning that following evening? So, while I inadvertently made him chase me, I will openly admit it wasn't long before I was completely smitten.

Once upon a time

It's been five months since I've started down this path that I now find myself on. If I step back and look at things I wonder how on earth did I get here, and how on earth did that become this. It's amazing the shift that has occurred in this relationship that I am in. The night I met my guy, I had absolutely no romantic interest in him. I found talking to him interesting, his life experiences, but that was where it ended. Yet, at the end of the night, I found myself in an awkward place. Him asking me for my number, and me not at all inclined to provide it. This is where the problem lies. I felt exceedingly guilty for telling him no, so always aiming to please, I told my friend (whose house we met at) that he could give him my number. So a couple of weeks later, precisely mid-move into my first house, he called. I truly was busy, completely preoccupied, and above all still not interested. But fearing the abuse of our mutual friend, I returned his call... several days later. To the unbiased outsider, it appeared that I was playing hard to get. That notoriously female role that I don't at all subscribe to. No, I was not playing hard to get. I still was not convinced that this was anything worth pursuing, but I agreed to meet him for drinks anyway. That night I became more and more convinced that he had no romantic interest in me. What guy discusses the people that he is dating while on a date? That was a first for me, and I was completely ready to kiss this one goodbye. But as we were heading out to the car, he did something that I still remember vividly. He grabbed me around the waist, pulled me towards him, and kissed me. At that moment, my eyes were opened.

The end of the day

Have you ever been at the moment of truth and been completely incapable of speaking it? I feel as though I hit that moment tonight. I cooked dinner tonight for my socially inept, non-boyfriend, significant other. And when it comes down to it this wasn't just any dinner. This was THE dinner. The best I have in my repertoire. I'm a fairly competent cook and can whip up many a gourmet feast without sweating it... too much. I've tried this dish on one other occasion... the man that came before this one. It's something I pulled out when trying to impress, to win his favor. Tonight was under no such circumstances. I just felt it was time. To show my appreciation, to show him I'm in this, to show him he means something to me.

Much to my dismay, we were both in a funky mood, which didn't lighten upon his arrival. He had been working most of the weekend and was rushing to finish up tonight before hurrying over to my place. One thing he hates, and rightfully so, is rushing to have a good time. I agree. It's not worth it if you're going to be completely stressed getting there. So he's grumpy when he arrives and makes said comment, which I have heard all too many times, and what do I say? It's grey now, but something along the lines of if you don't really want to be here, don't let me drag you out. And with that, he left. At first I thought it was just to the bathroom, and then after a couple of minutes have passed, I thought he really left. And then, a couple of minutes later I thought, o god, he's in the bathroom still, broken up about how he's going to end this, which leaves me in the kitchen having visions of tears and food flying. He was in the bathroom, but when he returned there was no further conversation on the topic. My window had passed, which it seems to do all too often. We proceeded to enjoy a fantastic meal, and as the night wore on, it had to come to an end. Work is looming, and the clocks jumped forward this weekend, which just exacerbates that fact. As he's leaving I experience those all too familiar feelings. Hollowness and emptiness. And perhaps it's just completely unrequited longing. These are strong words, but at the end of the day, I'm not willing to give up just yet, which makes it no less difficult for me. He has a fan club of one in my life, and I often feel like I'm not enough to fight for both of us, which leaves me second guessing my every move and is completely unfair to him.

There were a couple of moments tonight where I had about fifty million questions on the tip of my tongue but could never spit them out. So here I am a victim of my own silence. Perhaps it's not as bad as it seems, and tomorrow, once this wine has faded, things will look up. One can only hope.

God's chosen people

Flashback to Saturday night... Poker Night. This was held at a friend of a friend's house. If you remember, my friend that invited me along was trying to introduce me to new people, especially those of the single, male variety. While I have been dating the same socially inept guy for five months now, I still am open to meeting single guys. As I have mentioned to my friends, he is not my boyfriend. I wouldn't call him that, so no one else should either. I AM A FREE WOMAN... sort of.

So, I'm milling about the house Saturday night, new faces coming and going, when finally I'm introduced to the host. My friend has mentioned him several times especially in a sales-pitch manner. My first thought was this is a guy I could be interested in... he has those blue eyes that I'm such a fan of, a great smile, very outgoing personality, fun-loving guy, seems very successful, great house. What more can a girl ask for? Being the host of a large poker gathering, apparently he had many things to attend to, and most unfortunate for me, I wasn't seated at his table, so there really wasn't much (read any) time for chit chat until much later into the evening. Also unfortunate for me that freed me up to meeting stalker 1 and 2.

As the evening ran down, I found myself trying to cross his path more often. And by the end of the night, I was very slow to leave, which made me one of the final guests standing outside sharing a few parting words with him. I felt desperate to get his attention, but didn't want to appear desperate... very tricky. In the end, my friend and I left without a major breakthrough. I was to remain somewhat a woman of mystery. As my friend was driving me home, I starting thinking aloud how I found some of his friends quite interesting, which led to him inquiring as to which ones. I was about to pronounce that I was oddly fascinated by the host, which could result in my friend crossing our paths again, when I stopped and thought what's the point.

You see, many of the gatherers that evening were Jewish. And one thing that I took away from that evening is the glaring fact that I do not have a single Jewish person in my life. This is not by design by any means, I just haven't crossed paths with any that stuck with me. It probably goes without saying, but you have probably already assumed (correctly) that I am not a Jew. So what is the significance of all of this? The host is. Now, why forge a relationship or even attempt one, when deep down, I know it would never work long term. Why put my heart on the line, when I know it will just wind up broken in the end? The eternal optimist right now is saying you never know. It could work, somehow. I've actually had SATC delusions about pulling a Charlotte and converting for the man of my dreams. And as long as we're in fantasyland, why not? Clearly it's too early in this non-relationship to have such philosophical debates, but I really don't want to let Mr. Right pass me by either without my giving him a second glance. Perhaps I won't let this little complication get in my way just yet. After all I still have major issues, such as my non-boyfriend, complicating my dating life.

The American Physique

Fat America. Our reputation proceeds us worldwide. In any public forum, you see it. It's widespread, it's rampant, and there's no denying it. Obesity is a serious problem in this country, which really makes light of my rant from yesterday. No matter how the definition is spun, I don't think it's possible for me under any circumstance to be classified as such... currently. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like a beached whale as my size 2 pants felt overly snug on my ballooning ass and thighs today. I was miserable today as I was stuck at the office all day unable to slip into my elasticized pajama pants and oversized T-shirt. It doesn't help that, in spite of yesterday's rant, I still ate a small handful of girl scout cookies for breakfast. You can see I'm trying hard to regain control of my weight. What's my problem? Why can't I be happy with a comfortable size 4? Flashback to Sunday night.

I went to a concert with a friend, which meant I was out with the people. Not that this is a rare event, but a large number of people in a concentrated space will inevitably lead to some interesting people watching. As I began to notice those around me, I saw too many women wearing articles of clothing that were entirely inappropriate for their bodies, which only drew my attention to their imperfections. Horrible I know, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice. The two women sitting immediately in front of me were another prime example. I often wonder how people their size fit in the seats of such public arenas. Somehow they wedged themselves into their seats and looked completely uncomfortable the entire time they were seated. Now, I don't say this to mock or demean these people. I say this because I often wonder how people wind up 50, 100 or more pounds overweight. It doesn't happen overnight, and it doesn't happen on purpose. Yet, somehow it does happen, and I often think these people wake up one day and don't recognize themselves and don't know where to begin or have the strength or courage or support to begin. It's sad, and it makes me want to shake these people and get them to break this vicious cycle.

So what does this have to do with me and my size 2 skinny ass ranting self? I have this fear, that one day I too will wake up and look in the mirror and not recognize myself. I think left to my lazy ways, I'd inevitably gain that 50 pounds or more, which is why when I get to feeling the way I've been feeling lately, I rant and then take action. Tonight, I got off my ass finally and dusted off the treadmill. It felt great. The runner's high hit me afterwards, and I felt absolutely fantastic. So my strategy to keep this up? Not sure yet, but I am breaking this girl scout cookies for breakfast habit now!

I feel the earth move under my feet

This is not an ode to Aretha Franklin or Patti Labelle or whoever it was that sang that song. No, this is a rant about none other than me. Or my uninspiring physique these days. A week and a half ago, a friend of mine and I went and saw "The Spirit of the Marathon." What an amazing film. It documents the lives of runners, ranging from the casual runner next door to olympic and elite-level marathoners, as they train for, participate in, and complete the Chicago marathon. Truly a remarkable and awe-inspiring movie. As I left the show that night, I made the comment if that doesn't inspire me to get moving and try my hand at the 26.2 mile event, nothing will. I am one of those casual runners. I've participated in a half marathon once and have always said I want to try it again, the half, if not the full. Last December, I participated in the local marathon relay event. 5 miles, no problem, but we were intermingled with the real marathoners. I covered miles 10-15 with them. It's just amazing to be out there with them, watching the human spirit conquer any array of physical ailments. I love that runner's high I get after participating in any event or cruising along on the treadmill, so then why the rant? My running shoes have been collecting dust since that relay. Keep in mind, it's now the beginning of March. I can feel the muscle in my legs turning to mush and can see the layer of gush is what I like to call it forming on my stomach and thighs. I hate this feeling. Now, I know there are plenty of people out there that would look at me and think what does she have to complain about. I'm a size 4, and on occasion have been known to squeeze into a size 2. Yes, call me a skinny bitch, but I will part with this one thought... perspective does strange things.

Poker Night

It's Sunday evening, and I'm finally feeling human again. It only took several hours on the couch, a couple of catnaps, gallons of fluids, and a hot shower to get me here. Last night I played a little Texas hold'em and drank just a little beer. But that was after spending some time on the driving range, then on the patio also drinking a little beer. I'm not a lush really, but yesterday seemed to get away from me fast, and before I knew it, the night was winding down and I counted the remains of 9 beers in my wake. To my surprise last night, I remember thinking at 2am just how great I felt after said 9 beers. What a difference a few sleepless hours can make. Dogs don't seem to understand what sleeping in or hangovers are. So yes, I survived, but I can't say the same for my $25 buy in.

The poker outing was held by a friend of a friend. My like one guy friend is trying to introduce me to new circles (ie find a replacement for my guy), so he invited me along to meet his grad school friends. I had never met any of these people before, and only knew him, but still to my amazement, this wasn't a problem. Somewhere in my adult life, I developed this ability to talk to a brick wall. I'm not sure where it came from since I was quite the wall flower in my youth, but I've got it now, and I enjoy exercising it. What I have discovered is that this talent for talking to complete strangers has opened me up to some very bizarre situations. I was telling a friend this today. I seem to attract some strange guys I think purely because they find me very approachable. I'll talk to anybody. The problem is, in the feeble minds of men, this often gets misconstrued as interest. Last night was another prime example. But first, the really bizarre part of the evening.

We arrive at the house, and everyone's getting geared up to start playing some cards. We weren't the last to arrive, so as we waited for the stragglers to roll in, everyone stood about chatting. One arrival seemed to be inexplicably drawn to me. It was like there was some magnetic field drawing us together. And to put it nicely, he was an "interesting" guy. Not to say he was unattractive, but he was just a very unique individual. He was a world traveler with work and was moving away from the city in a handful of months... whew, he's not hitting on me... or is he? He was truly bizarre. We were talking amidst a small group, yet he ignored the rest of them completely and focused on me. He followed my movements about the house like he was my shadow. I admit, over the course of the evening, there were times when I was in the bathroom (remember the 9 beers?) thinking he was going to walk in on me at any time. Luckily, we had assigned seats for the poker game, and thanks to the luck of the draw, he and I wound up at separate tables. I did see him making a move towards the seat next to me before realizing, he would be playing on the patio. Ahhh, peace at last. Let the games begin.

My ability to chat up strangers, led to the next stalker of the evening. The guy to my left at the poker table. As the game rolled on, so did the table talk and flow of drinks. I made an early exit at my table (let the record show I was not the first one out of the night) and became the permanent dealer. So we continued to chat (we being me and the whole table), and as the numbers dwindled, it became time to consolidate tables. I leave my seat and mingle a bit, only to discover, that my neighbor (also an early exiter) is following me like a puppy. What is it with me and strange guys? Ironically, the original stalker was the big winner of the evening. Perhaps I should have humored him and somehow gotten my $25 back. I'm not sure it would have been worth it, but there is something extremely flattering about a guy paying that much attention to you.

The beginning of the end

It's a slow Saturday morning, my favorite kind, and I'm sipping my coffee and easing into the day. Last night was a girl's night. The plan had been formulated early in the day, morning if I'm not mistaken. A friend of mine was on a men are socially inept rant, and a couple of us were more than willing to join her. Look at me. I'm an expert on the men are socially inept rant. I actually initiated the talks of going out. It has been all week, since I've heard from my guy. This is the pattern these days. After Monday, I don't hear from him all week until about 5 o-clock Friday when he calls to see if I'll join him for dinner or drinks. And, up until now, I always answer his call, and I always am available. This week I decided I'm not going to be available. No last minute planning for this girl, so the location was set and out on the town we rolled. And promptly at 10:30, we were back. Party animals we were not, but we still had a good time.

So, slightly later than expected, I got the call. It was near 7 pm, and of course being technically challenged, I haven't figured out my new cell phone. So he couldn't leave a voice message because I don't know how to set it up, at least that's the excuse I'm going with. Now if it were me and I'm trying to get a hold of someone and I couldn't leave a message for whatever reason, I would try back later and perhaps more than once. Did he? Of course not. So clearly, he wasn't that interested in seeing me, and was just giving me the courtesy call. I'm so over this behavior. This is what leads me to believe this weekend might be the beginning of the end. I really have no motivation to call him, so really is it possible for this relationship to keep on keeping on? He won't call. I'm sure he'll be busy working or too self-absorbed to bother thinking about me. Ahh, this is such a healthy outlook! Ironically, the season finale to that most horrific show that we watch together is on Monday. Could the timing have been any better?

Old Flame

Today is one of those days where I just want to stay home and indulge my lazy side.  Most unfortunate for me, I took the day off yesterday, which left me at the office and craving my bed and slippers... and let's face it a couple of motrin all day.

I really had a fantastic weekend. Exhausting, but still fantastic.  I had the ultimate dinner party Saturday with some close college friends, their hubbies, and a few kids.  My little house was packed, and my dogs and I were loving every minute of it.  Sunday was spent tearing it up on the golf course.  And literally, I mean tearing it up.  My golf game is atrocious, but having played only once or twice a year, can I really expect any better?  I figure the way I play, I get my money's worth.  So the day off yesterday was perfect timing... until I woke up this morning, but who could have predicted that.

So Friday seemed promising as well.  I had a date, with my guy.  As socially inept as he seems, I still hold out hope.  We had a good time, but I left with a familiar feeling... underwhelmed.  He wasn't invited Saturday, because I wanted to enjoy myself.  And sad but true, his presence would not have allowed that.  So last night, after my fantastic day playing hooky, I joined the guy again.  We have this inexplicable ritual of watching the same horribly bad tv show together each week.  There came a point last night, where I felt as though this relationship which we had somehow forged, had become a complete sham.  I'm trying to be more direct and express myself in this relationship.  I ask fair and legitimate questions, and we're not talking anything completely probing or revealing.  But I am simply amazed how I get absolutely no response.  Either completely ignored or the subject changed.  I feel as though he's just being polite.  He's over this relationship, but continues to humor me to avoid the uncomfortable break-up conversation.  How long could he possibly allow this continue?  The scarier thought to me is that he thinks this relationship is working.  While I was at his place last night, I saw the gift I gave him... still unopened... love tokens still undiscovered.

My mood today had been unshakable.  Nothing like being trapped at the office and physically beaten down.  I was left alone most of the day to listen to my ipod and wallow in my funk.  It was after 5 and my grand exit was in sight, when I got the email that brightened my day.  My old flame, the one that broke my heart so many years ago, had suggested a trip to Paris.  When? was all I could think.  This is our thing.  We talk about making this trip that we'll never make, but every time it comes up, it always makes me smile.  Today was no exception.  It's been quite some time since we've actually chatted, and I'm craving his charm.  I think I just might top off my glass of wine and pick up the phone.

Dream a little dream

It's a rainy Thursday afternoon.  I'm cozied up on the couch and thinking to myself  I have really worked the system today and I'm loving every minute of it.  Over the last week, I have really been trying to improve my morning arrival time at the office... I'm usually a 9 o-clocker.  So I roll my sleepy-eyed self out of bed and typically peruse the internet for a couple of minutes while I wake up.  To my surprise this morning, I received an email saying a couple of on-line purchases were to be delivered today.  I had a hot date with UPS guy, and his timing couldn't have been better.  I used this opportunity to sneak out of the office at lunchtime, while I wait, and wait, and wait for him to arrive.  I needed this quality couch time.  I'm not sure if it's the effects of almost another full work week gone by or just the effects of last night's happy hour, but today, saying I am dragging is an understatement.

So about last night.  A friend of mine and I took our old boss out for drinks to celebrate his birthday.  We do this... often... well, not the birthday part, but drinks definitely.  We make quite the interesting threesome.  We all still work at the same company, where he's still a VP and my friend and I aren't quite there yet.  We drink and carouse and carry on highly inappropriate conversations.  He gives us career advice, we give him career advice.  He gives us relationship advice, we give him relationship advice.  He flirts with us shamelessly, we flirt with him shamelessly... have I mentioned he's married, with kids?  We're not.  These happy hours are always entertaining, and last night certainly didn't disappoint.  For some added intrigue, I had to relay to him the dream I had the night before.

Are we all dreamers?  In theory yes, but not all of us have that knack of remembering them when we wake.  In fact, if you were to ask me, I'd say I dream maybe once a year.  That's as often as I remember them.  Usually, when I have a dream, it's more like a nightmare, which often wakes me up in the middle of the night, and coincidentally, I find that I have to go to bathroom, so the timing of the nightmare couldn't have been more convenient.  Would I classify this particular dream as nightmarish?  That's debatable.  Do you consider making out with your boss a nightmare?  Perhaps, I should start at the beginning.  So the dream begins with aforementioned VP showing me his boat, which apparently he has one.  This is a sizable Atlantic cabin cruiser that has been conveniently relocated to a local lake.  Somehow, the tour of the boat leads to frolicking in the water.  Romantic except that at some point, the frolicking turns into him drowning me.  He's keeping me submerged just below the surface, and appears to not realize that this is a problem.  At some point during my struggle, I wake up... then head to the bathroom.

When I head to work yesterday, the dream is still fresh in my mind.  I could barely compose myself when, to my surprise, he appears in an early morning meeting and sits down next to me.  At the happy hour, he later admits to checking out my ass as I walked passed him to head back to my desk.  Nice.  Late morning, he calls (work related), but casually asks before hanging up if we're still on (speak of the devil, he just called me).  The whole conversation seems very illicit to me.  I was joking with my friend, who was threatening to ditch us for a date, that she shouldn't leave me alone with him.  I was in a strange mood that day, and after a couple of beers, might wind up making out with him in the parking lot as he subtly tries to shove me in front of a train.  She did leave us early last night, and he did walk me to my car.  But alas, I was not in a dream, my feet were firmly planted on the ground, so I proceeded to bid him goodnight and head on home.  Did I think about doing otherwise?  That's a given.  I often have, but I'm pretty sure I would never act on any of it.  My friend, being the good friend that she is, gave me a mental image that has ruined him for me forever.  Nothing like the ill-appeal of a pair of boxer shorts and sock suspenders to kill the mood.  I did say she was a good friend, didn't I?

Our reputation proceeds us

Twice in the last 24 hours I witnessed a site that perpetuates the woman driver stereotype.  A moving vehicle with the hatch to the gas tank ajar, and in one instance, the gas cap was tangling from the car.  And of course, the first thing I thought to do was check the sex of the driver... female, of course.  What takes the cake is the siting this morning, where not only was the hatch ajar, but the child in the back seat was clearly not wearing a seat belt.  These women give us a bad a name, but I wonder... is it our own fault?  My theory, due to my recent experiences, is that we are so distracted by our day to day goings-on, that we can't be bothered by such mundane things as that hatch, or gas cap, or totally ridiculous and overreactive seat belts.  Actually, I'm almost embarrassed to admit that recently I drove away from the pump completely before realizing I forgot to tell the machine that NO, I do not want a receipt!  So what do I do?  Throw the car into reverse, back up to the pump, and complete my transaction.  At least I was mindful enough to return the gas tank to its proper capped and closed position.  There was another occasion, the weekend before last, where I found myself in the same quandary, but this time I couldn't be bothered to throw the car into reverse... I was late to brunch.  A girl has her priorities.  So what is preoccupying us all?  My personal theory is the additional burden that all members of the female population bear because the men in our lives are incompetent... physically, mentally, emotionally, any combination thereof.  We are bearing more than our fair share of responsibilities with no offering of assistance.  Take me for example, I've got my job, my home, my three-ring circus of pets that I am just about comfortable handling on my own, but now I've got this completely draining relationship that I'm single-handedly sustaining.  All I left at the pump was a useless piece of paper.  Think of these women that are managing all of this plus a gaggle of children.  So, the next time you see a car cruising around with an open gas tank, don't judge!  Unless, that car belongs to me... especially, if it looks anything like this one.  In that case, pull me over and have me committed because that means the guy has driven me to insanity!

It is better to give than to receive

Isn't that how the saying goes?  I am certainly not questioning it.  I do believe it.  There is nothing like making someone happy to warm the soul.  Perhaps it's not the actual act of giving that really creates this feeling, but realizing the appreciation that person has for you.  So where is this commentary coming from?  

Flashback to Friday afternoon.  I actually receive a somewhat endearing email about 3 pm from the guy asking me if I'd care to join him for dinner that evening.  He's somewhat planning ahead, and since I shamelessly ditched him on V-Day, I'm inclined to say yes.  I make it through the boat-rocking afternoon (perhaps the ill-effects of the Benedryl) and head home.  He calls me on his way home, and we discuss plans.  He's very sweet and concerned for my fragile state, but still manages to get me to agree to driving down to his place.  Logistically, it just made sense, and I was itching (no pun intended) to get out of the house.  Despite my cynical outlook for this relationship and my scattered mental state, I had actually managed to pull together a very charming gift for him: a bottle of champagne (his favorite) and some love tokens good for hugs, kisses and other sundry things.  As much as I hate this holiday, I think I did quite well.  I grab the gift, leave the dogs loose (bad idea), and head out.

When I arrive, I let myself in, find him in front of the computer (no surprise), and present him with the gift.  He reads the cute little card I had attached, admires the festive wrapping job, then places the bottle down on the desk.  That's where it stays.  He never discovers the tokens, at least not in my presence.  So, this is where the giving and receiving comment comes in.  He has nothing for me, which to be completely honest, is completely expected.  Every now and then I find myself being optimistic about life, not my natural tendency, but events like this really just squash it like a bug.  So no gift for me, OK, he's been busy this week.  That could be a plausible excuse.  When it comes time to head out for dinner, he asks me to pick a place.  Are you kidding me?  Again, he puts the burden on me.  He hasn't planned a damned thing.  I defer since this is his neighborhood, but eventually we agree on one of my ideas.  Figures.  We head to dinner, then home to watch a movie.

If I think about how I feel when his attention is entirely focused on me, I get that warm fuzzy feeling.  But the problem is, I rarely feel like I've got his undivided attention.  That's how all of these pessimistic sentiments start creeping in.  It doesn't help that my friends, who have a somewhat more objective view of the situation, don't have great things to say about him either.  I can't decide if he's as uncaring, unappreciative, and disinterested as he often seems, or if it's just me reacting to him.  I'm hitting that self-preservation phase, and really, that can't bode well for him, all gift-giving aside.  So when I leave his place, I don't have that warm fuzzy feeling that keeps me smiling the whole way home.  Instead, I feel empty and can only think about what kind of gifts the dogs have waiting for me.

V-Day: Post Mortem

This is the beginning of what will hopefully be an indulgently lazy weekend.  It's one of those days where it's dark and rainy outside, and the couch is quite possibly the coziest place on earth.  I couldn't even be bothered to get dressed before making an absolutely necessary trip to Starbucks this morning.  I rolled up in my PJ's, hair thrown up in a sloppy ponytail, and slippers on my feet.  They do have a drive thru after all, and really, who am I trying to impress.  

So what happened to me two days ago (V-day for those counting)?  I did in fact spend the evening alone, but by choice and definitely not crying.  After my late morning freak out, I proceeded to return to the office only to feel myself deteriorating as the afternoon went by.  By mid-afternoon, I couldn't take it any longer.  I had to leave, which I did, and head straight to Walgreen's.  Apparently, I have a food allergy.  I was experiencing those classic signs: tingling, itching face, throat feeling like it's closing up.  I couldn't get the Benedryl in me fast enough.  In fact, I didn't make it out of the parking lot before popping a couple of pills.  Once I made it home, I called my friend to bow out of the play.  Her husband was once again going to have to suffer through that estrogen-fest.  I proceeded to hit the couch, dogs running amok everywhere, and crash.  I was just about in a deep sleep, when the phone rang.  It was 5, and of course, an appropriate time for the guy to call and ask me out to dinner.  Are you kidding me?  I told him I was in dire straights and needed my sleep, and that I'd call him back after my nap.  I have my priorities.  Post nap, I call him back and dinner talks unfold.  I have to decline.  I'm worn out and completely content to stay in my PJ's on the couch.  He makes an inappropriate joke about how I ruined his plans... he had bought flowers and chocolates, and made a reservation at a great restaurant... all a joke.  He's sick, and not in the physically ill sense of the word.  I call bullshit on him.  I know he's done no such thing, then he lays the burden back on me... because I hadn't made any plans either.  Seriously???  As my one good, male, friend said... THAT'S HIS JOB!!!!!!!!!  I get off the phone, none too quickly I'm ashamed to admit, then order up some greasy Chinese food and cozy up to watch Hello Dolly, one of my guilty pleasures.

V-Day: early lunch

The drama continues.  I believe I am losing my mind.  I just had a complete freak out moment at the office, which is why I am now home scouring the fridge and pantry for sustenance.  Why didn't I buy real groceries at the store last night?  I have managed to turn a little hunger and light headedness into just about a full on panic attack.  I though I was on the verge of passing out, and my current basket case state nearly pushed me over the edge.  I was shaking, my heart was racing, and my vision was fading.  I was ready to check myself into the ER.  What is my problem?  Why am I completely overreactive and completely unstable these days?  This is not normal, but then again, what is anymore.

V-Day: mid morning

The latest development. I have a hot date tonight. Whew, I won't be spending this evening crying alone with the dogs and evil cat. Except that my hot date is with my friend, and we're going to watch a play. Steel Magnolias... no, I won't be at home crying. Instead I will be crying in a crowded theater. Perfect. No word from the guy. He hasn't miraculously developed social graces. Who am I kidding. At least if he were to call, I'm really, truly busy. Somehow I don't feel comforted by that thought.

V-Day

A term often used to commemorate military victories and more recently associated with a movement to end violence against women has the great fortune, or misfortune, of representing the day much hated by single women everywhere.  So much for that movement to end violence.  Valentine's Day is just that... emotional violence against women.  I'm not so sure it limits its ill effects to just singles, but this is merely speculation.  I declare that I am in fact one of those victimized singles.  Even though I have been dating someone for four months now, V-Day has managed to make me an emotional basket case once again.  I have a tendency in relationships to steer the ship, keep things moving, always doing the calling or suggesting.  As my Dr. Phil-esque friends would say, not allowing the guy to pursue me.  This is the exact behavior that led to my first real heartbreak, which still haunts me to this day.  I've learned to recognize this pattern, and as soon as I feel as though I'm not being met half way, I start to pull away.  Self-preservation I call it.  That brings me back to today.  I have spoken to said guy, specifically not called my boyfriend, once this week (it is Thursday am).  There has been no mention of V-day.   And so, the drama of the day will now begin to unfold. 

Oh, the thinks we can think

For the inaugural post to this blog, I must admit one thing.  I am such an incompetent communicator, that I have gone and created an "anonymous" blog, simply so I can express all the things I think but never seem to be able to say.  What's amazing to me is that I developed this neurosis in my youth but have managed to overcome it on at professional level, at times to my detriment, but not on a personal level.  My keen ability to express myself at the office has on occasion earned me a reputation of being difficult to work with, uncooperative, argumentative, generally speaking, a bitch.  It's been many years since I've earned this reputation, and just a couple of years since I've been able to escape it.  See, what I've learned is there are times when it is absolutely critical that I keep my thoughts to myself.  I am reminded of what my mother always used to preach "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all."  But it's not events at the office that prompted me to start this blog.  It's my personal life, and my inability to express what I need, what I want in my current relationship.  So perhaps through expressing my thoughts here, I will be able to do so in real life.  Be prepared to witness the train wreck.