Rx: Eat Chocolate As Needed...

As I write this, I am burrowed in my huge down comforter on my bed. My hair is pinned back the way I used to wear it in Junior High. Beside me is a one-pound box of See’s Candy - given to me, that is the only redeeming aspect of it. It has been a rough several days. I have had the house to myself this past week, which turned out to be unfortunate timing. My boyfriend and I decided to take a break, for various reasons, hopefully amounting to the strengthening of our relationship. We have not spoken or seen each other for what feels like an eternity. As our time apart grows I feel like the island I am on is slowly floating further from his shore and I am becoming accustomed to being alone. I wish a roommate would come home so I could hear their shoes taping around the house!  My dad offered his support, all though not in the way I'd hoped, suggesting I date around because he feels getting married before thirty is a good way to ruin your life. In addition, there are the usual culprits: work has been chaotically busy, all my pants have mysteriously shrunk, my neck pain is taking on a life of its own and today I sent freshly brewed coffee cascading across my desk full of papers.

So, what does one do in a time like this? I bought a hair brush - the first one I have ever purchased. I have always argued that hair brushes are unnecessary, conditioner does the job. Maybe my hair has gone through a change recently, because after leaving work late, nothing sounded better than combing out that baby dreadlock on the back of my neck that’s been showing up towards the end of each day. Sitting in my car, I brushed my hair with my new brush. It felt so comforting, like I was nursing my tired self. It reminded me of when my mom used to brush my hair when I was little and pull it back into a neat ponytail with a frilly hair tie. I brushed for awhile, slowly, feeling the pin points of the brush rush over my scalp, working through the knots, making my hair calm and soft. I finally understand why those girls in school would have their hair brush in hand at the start of each period and run it through their hair like a nervous tick. If I’m not careful, this could become a dependency. I think I’ll give my hair just a few more quick strokes… again. Can you brush too much? Should I be concerned?
For tonight, along with the See’s candy, I will put away my daily nagging stresses (beat them off with my hair brush actually) and let go of my uncertainties. I know they’ll be right where I left them tomorrow. I’ll have my hair brush ready.

Proud Runner...

A few months ago I posted running a marathon as an item on my list of achievable goals. I’d like to inform you of adjustments/progresses in regards to that goal since the time of its posting. To be completely honest, when I first penned the goal I was unaware of exactly how many miles a marathon was. I had, for the most part, never ran (except for in grade school when you have to run the dreaded annual mile.) I’m not sure what I expected, but upon hearing it was the some-kinda-insanity 26 miles I quickly downgraded the goal to a half marathon. It didn’t take more than moment more for me to acknowledge that, yes indeed, that means a half marathon is 13 miles. Barf. Due to my ignorance, I decided to train for the next half marathon. It was a late Saturday morning, I had a steady, 90 year-old-ish hobble going down my street. A mere 3 blocks later I was whimpering from a fresh bee sting on my ankle and, having stopped to nurse my wound, suddenly found that I felt extremely nauseous. I had a moment of panic. I felt like my stomach was going to empty itself in both directions and I was going to die of thirst at the same time. I frantically scanned my surroundings for a drinking fountain, none. Though I was within five minutes of my house I folded onto a patch of grass in front of a huge Graham Cheverolet sign on the corner of an intersection, sucking in deep slow breaths. As the damp grass soaked into the seat of my pants two other joggers moved gingerly up the sidewalk. I tried to hide the distressed expression on my face and fidgeted with my shoe laces as they swiftly passed me. It was then that I realized that I didn't have a clue and 13 miles is a lot. So again, I downsized my half marathon to a marathon relay with three other people. I requested the shortest leg, 4.7 miles. Amazingly enough, since that dreadful morning, I have managed to run four miles with some regularity. In part because four miles is the exact distance from my house to my boyfriends and back. That way I can burst through his door and demand to know his plans for the night while having a little water break and showing him that I‘m athletic. I know what some of you are saying, “Pah! Four miles? I did that when I was five! I run 15 miles a day!” And to you I say, you are crazy and need to get some other hobbies. But truly, I don’t need that. I am so proud of myself for actually saving my brownie till later, shutting off the reality TV show, putting on the insanely tight sports bra and stretchy pants, all to go sweat like a pig and run like a sissy with my mouth gaping open for four triumphant miles as my neighbors drive by and wave.

Having said that, I must tell you that the marathon relay I was planning to run in is this Sunday. Have I trained? Yes. Have I resolved to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn in thirty degree weather? Yes. Unfortunately, my teammates are not in the same boat. Maybe it’s because they’re all married and so aren't in need of an excuse for a surprise visit to their boyfriends house. I don’t know, but the race for team Runners Up is officially off. You may think I feel pretty disappointed. But I don’t. As I said, it is a miracle in itself that my running shoes even see daylight. Cheesey may it be, but I feel like a winner. Plus, now I can enjoy the open bar at my company Christmas party this Saturday night.

Runners Up has decided to try the run again in May when it’s not so cold at 6am. My leg has been upped to about 7 miles. Yes!

An Independent Saturday...

Oh Independence... how puzzling you are. My boyfriend has made plans on this pleasant Saturday that do not include clingy little me, so I have been forced to rely on my independent self and turn my focus to my much neglected To Do list. I started my morning (11:30am), quite hopeful, beaming in anticipation of all that would be accomplished. Now, several hours later, I have found that having no plans can leave me feeling a little... aimless. Here's how the day has gone so far: First, I decided to update my picture frames, several of which contain photos of people I no longer know. I sat on my bed and looked at them, each carefully placed around the room... and did some thinking... laying back on my bed, I listened to the neighbors loading their dogs into the car, then I looked at my nails for a while and picked at something irresistable on my arm. I then thought, man, it's dry out, so I put some lotion on my hands and eventually, I went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, the selection was disappointing. Then I decided I should sew. I sat at my sewing desk (one of my favorite places) and I admired its amenities, my magnet board with the colorful little magnets, my stylish french colonial lamp; I acknowledged the aesthetic way my sewing supplies were set out on the table. I decided to add to the ambiance so I lit some candles, then thought, this might be a nice photo for my blog, so I took some pictures. Then I uploaded the pictures on my computer, after which, I went through some from the last couple months and deleted a few blurred or particularly unattractive shots, and made a mental note to post and print certain ones. Then I closed my lap top... I sat. I looked at my curtains, I noticed a pile of dead bugs at the bottom of my window sill, probably the remains of some spiders eatery, I corrected my posture and gave several moments of worry to the dowager's hump I fear is looming in my future. I inevitably returned to my slump and looked at the pictures I had pinned up on the wall above my desk and read the fortunes I had kept from past fortune cookies. I contemplated my chipped toe nail polish and finally, I got up, went into the kitchen, looked in the fridge and reconsidered its contents. Being independent is a lot harder than I thought.

The Spiders Strike: A too close encounter!!!

It seems the spiders are getting in the Halloween spirit. I had an extremely close encounter with one of those giant brown garden spiders two days ago that left me shrieking and doing the heebie jeebies dance in my driveway. I had walked into its web and its wriggling body touched my shoulder! Shudder, mega shudder!! I was sure a neighbor would run to my rescue once they heard my cries of disgust, but no, not even so much as a window curtain pulled back in curiosity. The spiders struck again tonight. The pile of clothes on my floor was getting to be sizeable, making my room look quite small, so I decided to do some tidying. I picked up a sweater from the pile and, Aaaaahhhh!!! A big, hairy thing with legs like licorice sticks was ready to pounce, guarding the pile of clothes as though it were his loot. This time I controlled myself and let out only a minor yelp and then took action. I scanned my surroundings and found my trusty black flats by my side so I acted quickly, with precision, like a seasoned warrior. I won't go into detail, but yes, the remains from the battle join the rest of my exhibition as evidence of a gruesome war yet to cease, and intruders need be wary.
Cute black flats can be used for more than just accessorizing...

So I'm one of those girls.... oh.

I never thought I'd say this but, being in a relationship has made me realize that I, in fact, am... needy. I never imagined, okay, well, I kind of suspected, but hoped I would never succumb to the whiny and pathetic habits of one of those girls. But here I am arguing with my dude because he's been too busy painting his apartment for the past what feels like forever to be spending time with me! Boo! Even as the words escape my mouth I know I'm not being fair, but I just can't get over it. Yes, I know we'll spend time together soon, but that doesn't cut it. The quota on hang out time zeros out at the start of each week! (Clearly I sound crazy.) So we discuss it, he's very sweet yet rational, I reluctantly agree and then I realize I still feel dissatisfied and reinstate my original argument. He lets out an aggrivated sigh and now I'm sure he's going to dump me. I am doing what guys hate, I tell myself, even I hate it! But it's no use, Needy girl is behind the wheel and there's no telling how far she'll go to have her needs met. Lets just hope my man sticks around long enough for me to Buck Up!

An Address to Spiders and Creepy Crawlys Alike

I see you up there Spider, your thick, grotesque body perched in your web over my bed. You are still as though dormant, but I know your tricks! The moment my light clicks off you awaken and descend like air down your silky strand to burry yourself in my hair, nuzzle in my neck! Look around you Spider. Notice your neighbors smooshed to oblivion on your left and your right. Consider yourself warned! Return to the wilderness before you become a smear of goo and scattered legs. Don’t brand me a murderer; this is a line of defense, a line which you have crossed, in a battle that is fought daily. Retreat Spider! Retreat!!!

Exhibit A: Bug guts

The truth: I originally left the guts because just the act of squishing filled my capacity for gross-out and I could not bring myself to then wipe the guts off the wall. I justified my display of crusty bug guts as a warning to their descendants, but my line of defense is not working. Despite the changing seasons spiders still flock to my bedroom in packs and now the bug guts have become cemented to the wall, such that removing them means taking the paint off as well, so there they remain.

Exhibit B: More bug guts

A Quote to Hopefully Propel Me...

"I want hard stories, I demand them for myself. Hard stories are worth the difficulty. It seems to me the only way I have forgiven anything, understood anything, is through that process of opening up to my own terror and pain and reexamining it, re-creating it in the story, and making it something different, making it meaningful - even if the meaning is only in the act of the telling."
-Dorothy Allision

I have yet to learn to do this, but it's something I look forward to.

I know I owe my three readers an update on my goals and so forth; stay tuned...