Friday, January 29, 2010
Things that I know about but maybe either think that my mom should already long know about such things and that we absolutely do NOT need to talk about. Or rather, more specifically, at this point in my life think these sorts of conversations are ones that she and I no longer need to have. Like, maybe we could have discussed these things when she was the teacher and I was the student, but definitely not vice versa. And DEFINITELY not conversations I want to have with my mother on the near eve of when I will soon be having such conversations with my own daughter.
But then I drink beer (of course) and she drinks too much wine (of course) and my dad is cooking fish and she gets tipsy from too much painting and too little food and too much wine and too much boredom and she calls me. And the conversation evolves from the Torres Tire Store fire and Beau's tutoring to something else entirely.
That's right baby. I'm talking about sex. Or really, the vajayjay. . .
So my mom has gone and gotten herself a lesbian friend. And this lesbian friend shared this site with her.
My mom wants to know why in the world would a woman spend that kind of money on their vajayjay when they could be spending it on something that people would see--like their face? Why???!!!! When no one is ever going to see that?
I have no answer for her. Okay, I might have a thought or two on why but really, with my mother? I don't want to go there.
So then, we-- over the phone-- look at some of the other procedures. . .
She jokes that if she were to become a "born again" virgin (like this one friend of mine who claimed way back in college to be one) that she would totally have the hymenplasty. But then we talk about, "why would anyone want to have that?"
Especially extra awkward when we then swap the extra stitch episiotomy stories.
To change the subject, I joke that maybe dad would like it if she would have the G-shot/G-spot Amplification done. And she responds that she doesn't know what the G Spot is and that Dr. Geard probably removed that part too. According to her, "he removed a lot."
Oh MY Gawd.
So of course the awkwardness is too much and her fish is now ready and Ryan is embarrassed listening in on my phone conversation anyway, so we hang up. Ryan cautions me against blogging about it, listing ramifications, but really, keeper of good judgement I am not. . .
For tomorrow, I am going to go run for a few hours in a snow storm with the ultra runner Jon Obst who will be running for 27 HOURS in a snow storm to "celebrate" his 27th birthday.
So you would think, when my mother wants to call me and discuss possible procedures on one's vagina? She knows what the fall out might be.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tired of running town to town
Tired of my heart turned upside down
Now my life's a smile not a frown . . .
You got my soul singing my soul singing . . . from Soul Singing by The Black Crowes
Yesterday I ran my long run. No big deal and nothing really blog worthy about that fact. Last few years I've been doing a long run about every week of the year except in the summer months then maybe it was one every few weeks. This past fall though I started doing the 3 hour run sometimes twice a week and well, that just didn't work out so well for me. Not saying it wouldn't work for some people but for this late-to-discover-running-thirty-eight-year-old-mother-of-two-who-once-shattered-her-pelvis-and-still-a-bit-crooked it just didn't pan out.
But I do so love the 3 hour run. It is what gets my "soul singing".
Okay, not totally true. I really, really hate the first hour of the 3 hour run. I will procrastinate the heck out of starting it and then for the first seven miles I think about not doing it, cutting it short and sometimes just calling this whole running thing quits. I obsess during those early miles about every little thing: I might be too cold, this or that hurts, I am running too slow, I am tired, my outfit is all wrong, the hills are, somehow, steeper today than they were last week, I hate all my ipod music, and nothing feels quite right. But then I am at Walgreens and run in, pee, have Gu, some water from their fountain and I return to the sidewalk feeling better than when I started and now with a "can do!" attitude. For that second hour I run a little too fast and only worry a little about how much that is going to hurt me in the final hour.
Usually in that second hour I stop to buy Gatorade and the man behind the counter at the gas station on Johnson Ferry and Roswell Road alternately will either call me crazy, tell me I am beautiful or suggest that I should run to his house in Lawerenceville (which according to him is 24 miles from the store)and be his wife. On days when I look a little miserable he offers me a ride to his house in Lawerenceville. I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine but for once a week for over the past two years he has been a staple of my 21 mile weekly run.
By the end of the second hour or beginning of the third I usually have a low point. Sometimes, when I don't have it, I worry. I worry because that means catastrophe could be just around the corner. Like earlier this year when in the middle of mile 20 my ankle started hurting and it took me over 20 minutes to limp the final mile home. Agony.
So there is a little bit of comfort when the discomfort comes. Sure I have a bit of a pity party when it arrives but then I get "done" with myself and dig in. I know the best is about to come once I climb out of the valley of darkness. I know this is all self created but getting to triumph over adversity once a week really does help me deal with everything else that comes my way in the rest of my life. So yeah, basically, the long run helps me cope. Once upon a time Ritalin was the drug that made me right; now running is that drug. But that is a boring story for another time.
I love arriving at mile 17. Four miles to go. And now, it is mostly downhill until the final mile and half and at that point I won't care about running up a hill or three. It is always (unless catastrophe strikes) in the those final 30 so minutes that my soul starts its song. Sure I am spent, my hips a little achy, my hamstrings beyond annoyed with me and it would be completely impossible for me to make a sudden movement right or left but it is like my body is locked into running and it isn't going to stop until I get home. I love everything and I am so freaking happy! And it is so funny because at this point I am running on the same road I ran out on and only a few hours earlier I really, really hated this road and everything in the world. Funny how much your perspective can change on a three hour tour.
And always, always-- no matter if it is my regular 21 or I went crazy and ran 25 miles-- I run as hard and fast as I can manage up the final hill to my house. And, I will admit, many times to throwing up my arms and inwardly, okay sometimes outwardly, cheering for myself. And nearly every time as I get to my house I think about cartwheeling across my lawn to my front door. But, again, I am not too sure about my coordination for any movement other than running. So of course, I just slow down and walk happily into my house. But the cartwheels, or if I am really ambitious, the aerials? In my mind I did them. That is how I feel. And I guess if you have never cartwheeled or done an aerial or a flip then you just don't know how awesome and cool that feeling is: that spinning, for a split second, sideways, upside down and all round through the world feeling. That is how I feel after a long run.
But now I am sad.
The major artery that makes my perfect 21 mile run possible is closed. They are taking the bridge out on Sewell Mill Road. It will be out until June. They have a detour but if I follow it puts my run over 22 and I will have to run along Roswell Road. And that means I will have to switch sides just so I can be on the sidewalk to get to Old Canton (which a small portion of right there doesn't have sidewalk). That's no good. Never mind that is a just an ugly stretch to have to run along. Plus, I really like running down Providence Rd and Bill Murdock Rd and past the neighborhood I grew up in before I moved to Roswell. I always have a new memory from when I was little pop in my head. It is a nice little surprise and a great diversion.
So I've been searching for a new route. I tried one out yesterday. And it was too long--just over 23 miles. I was thinking though if it worked out I could just do it every 2 weeks and do a 16 mile run on the week in between.
The route took me from my house in East Cobb to Historic Roswell and back. But the Roswell stretch of Shallowford Road has no sidewalk and the soft shoulder is scary. Too many big trucks never mind the big hills. The hills though would be find if I had sidewalk. But running up that big of hill and having to look at the ground so I don't twist my ankle and fall into incoming traffic is just too stressful. Then the coming back along highway 92 is just sucky. 92 is always a wind tunnel. So this route is, sadly, no good.
For me a good running route-- from my house-- will be side walked and it needs to be a big loop that forces me to do the run (if I have to run past my house or have the opportunity to cut it short I probably will.) It also needs to have places I can stop to pee and get water. I don't like having to carry stuff and this is the suburbs; I can't just pee in someone's front yard. But those are just the basics. Ideally a good route will be somewhat scenic. Running along a 4 lane road past strip malls is not scenic in my opinion.
So I am still searching. I haven't looked into a route that will take me out towards Marietta or Woodstock so that could be an option. . .
Monday, January 25, 2010
No really, I can be.
Believe it or not I've actually had people describe me "as laid back." I know, I too just assume those people--the ones who think I might be laid back-- are really bad at reading people. But, I'm just making a point that, I--moi-- have come across as laid back. That there are apparently some people in this world that think of me as easy going. And to me that suggests that those people--the ones who think of me as "laid back"-- probably think I don't get annoyed about much. And of course, they would be wrong. But again, I think we already agreed that these were not the most astute people ever anyway.
Did you see that?
Did you see how I was sort of polite about basically calling some people stupid?
Was that annoying?
Well, truthfully I too find that annoying but I am use to it. It is a Southern woman thing after all. Southern women are awesome at insulting someone in such a way that it sounds exactly like a compliment but really what just happened is that they called you a slut when they said "You are such, a (insert thoughtful seeming pause) free spirit."
Right, I know. I'm not really all that good at it and admittedly I am often tricked by it too. This is why I avoid ladies luncheons and anything that involves a committee of women. You know they are speaking English but you are never sure what is really being said because it is smushed under some pleasant adjectives and said in polite and syrupy voice. But one quick trick in helping you decode the intention is be on the look out for conversations that start with "Bless her heart". You hear that and just know that something unkind is about to be said about someone.
Okay but that isn't what really annoys me. I know, the whole tangent thing I do can be very annoying. I can't help it. I just have so many useless things to convey! I would hate for you to miss one single thing. Do you know my nickname is Pooh? No? Well it is and there really is a Tao of Pooh and all I am saying is that later? There might be a quiz. So yeah, all these tangents are key information. So pay attention and don't skip ahead.
So anyway. . . as soon as I read Lin's question I KNEW what really, really annoys. I mean, this is something that never fails to annoy me. More so than when someone nearly causes me to rear end them when they pull out in front of me and then proceed to drive 10 miles under the speed limit. More than that.
My number one pet peeve is the cult of the little dog. And maybe this is just an Atlanta thing, or a northern suburb thing but it seems like every single time I am in a TJ Maxx or Target or Trader Joes there is some woman--and no it is never the same woman--in there with her little scraggly haired with bows lap dog in a shopping cart. And no, it is not the same dog. Just the same type of dog. You know it: the little dogs, the lap dogs. The ones with an outfit on and a froufrou hair cut and most likely they have that nasty black stuff under their eyes that little dogs all seem to have. More often than not the little dog is sitting on a pillow.
To be clear. I don't have a problem with people owning these types of dogs or wanting to dress them up or fix their hair (you know some people put colored streaks in their dog's hair?) or essentially treat them like a child. I don't even mind little dogs. I don't want one for myself but little dogs aren't the problem. I've decided that what I really have issue with is the women who own these dogs and treat them like an accessory to their outfit.(I have NEVER seen a man out shopping with his little dog and I have yet to see anyone pushing their Boxer or Golden Retriever dressed up in a shopping cart at Trader Joes.) I don't understand why they think it is okay to bring these dogs where it is totally inappropriate to have an animal. Aside from a service dog I can not find a single reason at all why you would take your dog to shop for clothes or groceries (or, for that matter, why you would want to.)
It is totally obnoxious and presumptuous to bring your dog into a clothing or grocery store and subject people who maybe don't want to be around dogs to be around dogs. And don't even try the "I feel the same about your loud and wild children in public" argument. No way. Not the same. At all. Unlike a child you can leave your dog unattended at home. You can even put them in a crate. My understanding is that DEFACS has some issues with crating children so that is not an option for parents like it is dog owners. Also, some people are highly allergic to dogs. People, while highly annoyed by children, are never allergic to them.
I am so tempted to dress up Lola and put bows in her hair and put her in a shopping cart and peruse the racks at TJMaxx. Wonder what would happen? Forget that it would be totally impossible for me to sneak my 60lb husky under my jacket and quietly squire her into a shopping cart as I imagine the little dog ladies do. I am fairly certain I wouldn't make it cross the store's thresh hold with Lola. Pretty sure if I show up with Lola at Trader Joes, or any store other than Pet Smart, we would be asked to leave the moment we entered. And I think if they wouldn't let me shop with my big dog then that would be discrimination if they are allowing customers with little dogs to shop with their dog. I mean, come on! What about the shopping rights of big dogs and their owners? Certainly, as a US citizen, nothing should annoy me more than discrimination!
And I guess maybe that is the crux of what annoys me about the cult of the little dog, or rather their female owners. These women, in toting their little dogs everywhere with them, suggests to me that they believe they are above the rules. That smacks of self proclaimed elitism and elitism-- especially unearned and assumed-- is always distasteful to me: always, annoying.
Feel free to list your pet peeve.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I am, however, trying to be a consistent blogger so I am going to post even though I ain't got much to say.
But you know me.
I can always figure out something to say (past few months notwithstanding) . . .
I thought I would list some of the random stuff I have been using lately and really like. This is probably more girl directed but you never know, might be something here for the boys-- or at least maybe some gift ideas for the most awesome women in your lives.
I mentioned in my Poodle Revisited post that I had a MRSA infection under my eye. This happened because I scratched the skin on my under eye (right along the socket, just above the cheekbone). Tiniest scratch ever. This was at the end of October when I was nursing that ITBS and was at the gym a lot. My doctor thinks I probably picked up the infection there. So what started out as a tiny scratch turned into a very scary infection that the doctor was afraid that if I had I waited any longer to treat it I would have been in danger of losing my eye. The whole left side of my face was so swollen it obstructed my vision and I had a fever. Despite this I still argued with him when he tried to prescribe me Levaquin . I just couldn't risk tendon rupture after all my ITBS woes. He agreed to give me Omnicef for 2 weeks so long as I came in every few days so he could check my eye. Luckily the Omnicef worked. But man what a pain in the ass to go to the doctor that much.
While the infection completely cleared up it unfortunately left an ugly, raised, red and bumpy mark. My friend Chris (Oh no! The pressure to update your blog!) advised me on using some eye cream (I was all what is this eye cream stuff you speak of?) but ultimately all the eye cream I tried made my eyes really puffy and didn't help the scar. I was afraid to try Mederma so close to my eye--especially since the skin is so thin there. I also hate spending lots of money on face products that I don't know if they will work and will probably give me an allergic reaction.
See, here is me and Chris at The Cult (awesome concert by the way) about a week after my eye infection healed. Right eye, red mark. I deleted all the pictures where it looked really scary.
On a whim I decided to try a moisturizer instead. I know it probably sounds crazy but I have never used moisturizer. At least not regularly. Crazy, because a woman my age should probably have found "her moisturizer" 20 years ago. But no. Not me. See, ever since I became an adult I have been plagued by adult acne (oh, the irony). The older I get the worse it seems to get (wrinkles and zits! Awesome!) So the idea of adding to the oil factory on my face wasn't something I thought wise. But let me tell you I've been using Aveeno Positively Radiant Daily Moisturizer for almost 2 months now and my skin looks better than it has in, well, forever. And, best of all, I have not had to use any other acne products (and believe me, I've tried them all except Acutane) and have had no significant breakouts either. It's crazy. Ryan also loves this stuff too. Best of all the mark under my eye from the infection has gotten so much better. I can hardly see it. There is still a mark but it isn't raised or bumpy or as dark. For less than $16 this stuff is totally worth a try. I use it twice a day.
Next up is Phubby. This is a wrist "cubby". Carmella gave this to me. Totally her find. She picked it up at a gift shop in Callaway Gardens. She and Beau went for the weekend last spring with Bubbles and Poppy and she wanted to get me a present since I always bring her gifts when I go on vacation without her. How sweet is she?
Anyway, I have used this to death. It is awesome to carry Gu's, phone, lip stick, ID, money etc. I can stuff a lot of stuff in there! It has totally opened up my running wardrobe since I am no longer pocket dependent. However, a word of advice, you might want to put your cell phone in a ziplock. On a long trail run this summer-- when it was like 95 degrees-- I sweated so much I shorted out my cell phone that was in the phubby. That may have been a fluke thing since I always forget to bag my phone and I haven't had any issues with sweat or even rain. But just saying I don't think it is water proof.
Next is the second best Christmas gift I received this year.
Oh, what was first?
Why, my Frye Belted Harness boots of course!(I have a boot fetish.) My other boots are sad cause they aren't getting any play time.
But my 2nd favorite is just as great and is a hit at parties. My most thoughtful sister-in-law and brother-in-law gave Ryan and I our own personal breathalyzer for Christmas. My other brother-in-law (Wes) currently holds the high record of .26. The record, which I am sure won't hold, was set at the Band of Horses concert on Dec 30th. Which I should say the best part of that concert was for final encore they sang We are the World with a bunch of other local musicians (I think I saw the guy from the Whigs up there) and it was totally lost on the young hipsters that dominated the crowd.
I found this video from the following night:
My final current love of late is the Ulta make up kit Bubbles gave me for Christmas. I am pretty boring when it comes to make up: always with the nudes and the neutrals. But this kit is awesome! It has so many colors and they go on really nice--not flakey. My only complaint is that it doesn't have a mascara and that I can't take the lip gloss with me. But a really great kit if you want to experiment with different colors and not for a bad price either since it is just under $20.
No list of likes would be complete without at least one dislike.
Okay. So this is a pretty unusual thing. I had never even heard about it-- never mind seen one in person until New Year's Eve when I was out for my final run of 2009.
Have you seen one before?
Know what it is?
Well, it is a runner's trap.
Horrible, horrible contraption.
I know, I KNOW, it looks totally innocuous. All simple in it's circular design. Don't be fooled. It may look like a metal ring but make no mistake. This trap can cause some serious damage. At all costs you must avoid the runner's trap and under no circumstances try to step through the circle. If you attempt this your front toe may lift part of the ring and it will effectively (and swiftly) lasso your ankles and bring you down. Hard. One second you are enjoying, wait, celebrating your final miles of 2009 and the next second your chin is within a mila inch of the concrete and your entire body weight is supported by your right knee and thigh and wrists. Oh believe me, you get up fast. It is a crowded intersection. And you try to act all cool and not freak out about the blood streaming down your legs, possible broken wrist and jog tuck tailed home. Oh yeah, you are going to be feeling that tomorrow and for weeks after wards. But don't worry, by some time mid month the bruises and scabs on your hands, knee and wrist will almost all be totally gone.
Good, f-ing riddance 2009.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Possible offensive or at the very least crude content that might leave some scarred for life (especially if you have actually drank coffee at my parent's house.)
A week and half ago Atlanta got hit with a "snow storm". The quote marks are for the readers who live in areas where they actually have snow storms with snow. (I wouldn't want to offend anyone having just started back blogging and all.) But those who have not ever experienced a southern snow you need to know that in Atlanta any amount of snow, no matter how little, is reason for the world to shut down and for people to forget all driving skills. This year, though the snow accumulation was laughable, there really was ice on the roads and it made for some pretty scary driving over in my parts.
Exhibit A: Carmella and Beau playing the street across from my house. Complete sheet of ice.
As the member of a family where it is genetically ingrained that you must attempt to drive in all adverse conditions no matter how ill advised I drove over to my Mom's to pick her up so we could run at the Leita Thompson trail. The Leita trail is about 2 miles from her house and 7 miles from my house. I had contemplated running to the Leita but it did seem a little crazy to run 14 miles (round trip) just so I could run a few loops on the soft, groomed, snow covered Leita trails (longest loop is 2.5 miles and the max I can stand to run that loop is 4 times, usually I'm just good for 2 though). Plus, as I discovered the next day when I did run from my house that the sidewalks were very treacherous. So driving actually proved a better choice. I know many people chose to take the "snow" day off from workouts or opted to go to the gym as the temps were in the single digits but we so rarely get "snow" that I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to run in it. Who knows when Frosty is gonna show again. Gotta run and have some fun before it all melts away, right?
Snow, for us Southerners is a precious novelty. I feel like I am in a fairy tale running through the snow. Silly, I know, but don't forget: I've lived here my whole life and have been logging 50+ miles a week on the same roads for over 4 years now. Snow is a free change of scenery.
Leita trail about a mile in (clockwise):
Frozen pond at the midway point on the trail:
Mom and Lola:
Mom and I had a lovely run and on the way back to her house I asked her if she had any coffee. I was out and didn't feel like stopping at the store. She only had whole beans. Oh, never mind I said, I don't have a grinder. . .
Oh, she said, I have a back up coffee maker with a grinder. You can have it. (Score!)
I know you are thinking, "back up coffee maker"? Okay, so there are 4 important things to know here about my parents:
1. They are very serious about their coffee. Annoyingly serious. Growing up 2 things we were never out of were coffee and wine.
2. My dad LOVES to buy kitchen appliances and gadgets.
3. They actually have another "back up coffee maker".
4. Yes, this makes it damn near impossible to ever buy my parents gifts. Except wine. You can, apparently, never have too much wine.
Said "back up coffee maker" that I scored:
After a lesson from her how to make a great cup of coffee, I left Mom's happy from my run and with a bag of coffee beans, a new coffee maker, a waffle iron, some beer, some potatoes, and some ketchup. (Yeah, so I remembered there were a few other things I needed to get at the store.)
I tell you what.
The shopping at my parents is good! And cheap. (Hello free! Pleased to meet you!) However, it does require some patience; like how I am waiting for them to decide that they don't really want that big flat screen that they just bought or for mom to figure out already that the wardrobe in their room really isn't the right piece for them. . .
Ryan was really excited about our new coffee maker too; especially once he figured out he could program it. And while I love that I can wake up and have coffee hot, ready and waiting--the thing sounds like the space shuttle taking off in my kitchen and serves dually as an alarm clock. The not so good part about that is at 5:30 am when I don't need to get up until 6 am. Why 5:30 am? Because Ryan ambitiously thinks he is going to be ready and leaving the house before 6 am. But typically at 5:30 am I am in the process of smacking him for the 3rd time in 27 minutes to get up and turn off the f-ing snooze.
Ryan also has been a little frustrated by the coffee but for a different reason. He thinks the coffee is weak. Therefore, I am of the belief that he is just not adding enough beans but he isn't convinced. When he found out today that my mom was coming over because my sister was coming over to do my hair he told me to ask her again how to make a "great cup of coffee." But then he changed his mind and said, never mind, ask your sister. Then he when out to do boy stuff since there was going to be a bunch of women coloring their hair here.
I totally had forgotten the story until, in mid foil and in all seriousness, I asked my sister how to make a great cup of coffee. I was thinking Ryan had told me to ask her because she and Wes have a similar coffee maker (also a previous back up coffee maker's of my parents.) But when she busted out laughing and commented that she hadn't ever told the story to mom; I suddenly remembered.
And so now we have reached the part of my story where an alternate title for this post has occurred to me: Reason #4,602 Why Not to Live in Your Parents House After College.
Pookie was about 24, doing the moved-back-into-Mom-and-Dad's-house-what-am-I-going-to-do-after-college bit. Now, first you must understand that my parents do not by any means have a small house but even though it is a larger house you are able to hear everything going on in the kitchen no matter where you are in the house. You actually come to believe, if you are in another area of the house, that once people enter my parent's kitchen they begin screaming at each other to converse. It is that clear and that loud. Pookie's bedroom at the time was at the farthest upper most point from the kitchen and one morning, surely fresh in from a hard night of partying most clearly overheard this unfortunate exchange between my parents:
Mom: Beau! This coffee is amazing! What did you do to it?
Dad: I put my dick in it.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Seeing him reminded me of that blog post I wrote nearly four years ago and when I got home I reread it. And there it was: six minutes and fifty-nine seconds. A one mile personal best. . .
Fast forward nearly four years later: The past six months have in particular been a bit torturous for me. I've been trapped in the real life "valley of darkness" as Steph and I say--referring to the low point one always experiences in any long endurance event. You know you will have your turn there and you have to get yourself through it. And if you've ever been with me in a race and seen me in throes of the valley of darkness then you know I like to be left alone.
But this turn in the real life valley of darkness has just been too long. It has been riddled with injury after injury (ITBS, ankle tendonitis), sickness (pluerisy, bronchitis, asthma and a MRSA infection under my eye), a do not start (Mystery Mountain Marathon), a shameful do not finish (the Atlanta Marathon at mile 17) and just some personal minutiae that individually isn't so terrible but poo piled up on poo? Well, the stench will near cripple you.
So yeah, I've been pitiful and feeling sorry for myself and haven't been writing because I personally don't appreciate listening to those type of people much less being one of them. I have long said that I think one of the best traits a person can have is the ability to laugh at themselves. But I found, quite unhappily, that I was no longer able to laugh at myself and well, I didn't want anyone to know. Besides, why write about what I myself didn't want to read?
I have been told that I'm kind of funny. And really, next to being called skinny, I think that is the best compliment ever. I love being funny and making people laugh. I mean, really, what's better than spreading joy? But all that stacked up poo? It has eaten away at me and I have definitely lost my sense of humor. I found I could no longer fake it. It was too hard to pretend the light, the funny and the witty when I absolutely haven't been feeling it. So I quit blogging.
But I have really, really missed blogging. I compose blog posts in my head all day long yet for some reason can never bring myself to actually write them. Scared that stinky poo would find itself in and I would, possibly, reveal too much (not sure I believe that). Maybe I've been scared that I've lost "it" or, worse, that I never had "it" and really, after all, I am not that interesting or even all that funny (little more likely). I suppose it doesn't matter what the precise reason was why I wasn't, couldn't blog I just know that I wasn't up for facing any more poo when I was already down. I just couldn't be the Bob Mould of blogging. (No offense to Mr. Mould. I am a huge fan. Just not so much into the dark writing myself these days.)
I have decided though; fuck it. I don't care if it sucks. I am not going to care if I am not funny, not witty, not interesting because I am still here. I am still, like Poodle Man, putting one foot in front of the other. So, I might be a little less bright, a little slower but you know what? Even my crappy 5k a month ago (en costume, no less)was at a six fifty EIGHT average pace and that is still better than I was 4 years ago. And well, I know it ain't much but it is just enough to inspire me to keep on keeping on with it all.