New podcast where I talk about this car and other stuff. You can find the podcast on the sidebar and here.
I can’t remember the last time I took a nap. I’ve tried to relax, but can never commit. I’m always finding something else to do or thinking about everything I have to do or making myself feel guilty about napping.
I’ve been so busy lately. Between the running, yoga, chores, races, dinners, parties, and other shit that has made up my life over the past couple of months, I haven’t had a moment of peace to begin to relax and it’s caught up with me this week. I went to bed at 8 PM every night this week and slept well, but was still exhausted. All week, my body has been slow and slurry. On Wednesday, I really believed that I could have fallen asleep standing up on the train. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
I told everyone to fuck off this weekend. I had one obligation yesterday morning, a breakfast with family, and then nothing but my Sunday run. I got home from breakfast and stared at my bed with longing. I turned all of the ringers off on my phones and snuggled down. I slept for 2 hours and felt wonderful. This morning, I ran 5 miles and cleaned the house. After my shower, I snuggled down again and slept for another 2 hours.
The older I get, the more I need to chill out and recharge my battery. I need quiet time. I need to calm my overstimulated mind. I really need to start taking one day a week to be by myself and just bask in quiet. I think it’s a good plan.
In other news, my drunk ass neighbor might be losing his life tonight if he doesn’t stop cutting the 3 twigs he cut off of a pine tree with a chain saw. He’s been at it for several hours over sticks I could have broken off with my bare hands. It’s right outside my living room window. It’s driving me mad.
First, holy shit I’m actually writing something on this blog. Right?
This is my first post in 2012 and this is what’s what.
Things that haven’t changed: I’m still single. I have the same job. I live in the same apartment. I still have 4 cats.
Things that have changed: My state of mind, my attitude, and my body.
Over the past 5 months, I’ve come to view my body as a machine. I was once in such good shape, a talented athlete. But like a machine, you have keep up with the maintenance. I didn’t.
I decided in February that I wanted to run a very popular race in Philly, a 10 mile race that requires runners to run a 15 minute mile or faster. This was a huge decision for me. I was running slow at the time I made the decision and needed a goal. This race is so popular that I didn’t get in at first, but got picked in the lottery. I felt like this was fate.
Running is hard work. When I got the word that I got into the race, I was running 3 miles, 3 times a week at a pace of 13 minutes per mile. I had to pick it up. I gradually increased how many times a week I ran and increased my distance. I got terrible blisters and lost the nail on my big toe on my left foot. I kept on running through body aches and a tight back and bad weather.
I pushed my body until my muscles started remembering what being fit felt like. I pushed until I could maintain a 9 minute mile pace over several miles. I pushed until I didn’t have to worry about how my body felt because running felt like home again. Yes, home again. Muscle memory is amazing. My body remembered my gait and form. And even though I wasn’t in shape enough to handle what my body wanted to do in the beginning, once my cardiovascular system could handle it I took off.
The hardest part about running is exercising your mental muscle. Finding the part of you that shuts the negative part of you off. Figuring out how to let go of fear and just relax. Learning to trust your body and realize that our machines were built for movement. I feel better when I keep moving. Rest only makes me hurt, both physically and mentally. Newton was right, “a body in motion stays in motion”. I think of members of my family who sit around and don’t move. The ridiculous walkers or canes they use, all because their leg muscles are too weak to carry their body weight. They have no injuries, except for a broken mind. What’s the other cliche…”use it or lose it”? Too true. I don’t want to be that person when I’m 50, a prisoner inside of a abandoned shack of a body. Who wants that? I see the 70-year-old runners at races with their smiles and strong bodies, and that’s what I want not just for myself but for everyone.
I have changed. I am better. I am rebuilding my machine.
So, what’s your excuse?
For as long as I can remember I disliked New Year’s Eve. The night always brings a sadness and longing that I can’t really describe. I have no reason to be sad and I have no idea what I’m longing for, it’s just there. Maybe I have a memory from another life that revolves around New Year’s Eve. Who knows?
Even when I was little, I never enjoyed myself. I would cry when the ball dropped over Times Square. At one party when I was a teenager, I got such a heavy feeling in my chest that I thought I was going to pass out. I went on for the entire night.
I’ve tried going out. I’ve been to socials, wine tastings, friend’s parties, hanging out with family, and going to the bar. I have never ever ever got out of my NYE blues. I can’t say that I didn’t have fun at these celebrations, but the blues was always there.
The worst is trying to tell whatever boyfriend I had at the time that all I wanted to do was stay home and read a good book and forget about NYE. They never seem to understand and I end up going out counting the minutes until I can go home. Since I’ve been single for the past…well what feels like forever, I have spent NYE doing exactly what I want.
I’m not a depressed or pessimistic person. I am not prone to melancholy. It’s just this night. I hate it.
I do have one New Year’s tradition that I have been keeping up with since I’ve been on my own. Every year, I make homemade cinnamon rolls and allow myself to eat as many of them as I want. So tonight I will drink a glass of wine and read a book, and then get up nice and early to run 3 miles. That way I can feel a little less guilty for eating my face off.
Happy New Year! May you and yours have a year filled with love, happiness, and fun!
I chopped my hair off. I went from a shoulder-length bob to a pixie…very drastic. I love it. It’s easy and chic. I haven’t been so happy with my hair in years.
And when you’re happy with your hair, you feel good and good feelings attract good things…and so on and so on.
Although, I ran a 5K a few days ago and the guy checking me in thought I was a guy. I know I wasn’t wearing any makeup and was wearing a boob-smashing sports bra but I think he was fuckwit, because was wearing pink from head to toe and had a barrette in my hair. I gave him my last name and he asked me if I was Brian or Debbie. Um, really?
Other than that silliness, the reaction to the short cut has been positive. Even my dad, who hates short hair, says it suits me.
Here’s the picture. Isn’t it an awesome cut?
I woke up this morning disoriented. I get up every morning, no matter what day of the week, at 5 AM. The cats don’t let me sleep in. This morning I could feel the time change. I felt weird. I got up and wandered around with my cup of coffee. I was restless, like something was going to happen today. I didn’t know what, but it was in the air.
I met my mom for our new Sunday tradition of running 5K. I shaved 2 minutes off of my time, which I’m super happy about. The weather was beautiful and we run by the river, so the scenery is quite lovely.
After the run, I ran to the grocery store for some stuff. I hate going on Sunday, but I needed some greens and cheese and oatmeal. I saw 2 super hot guys shopping, one helping what looked like his dad do his shopping. So the shopping trip wasn’t so terrible.
After I got home and put all of the stuff away and took a very necessary shower. I was ready to sit on my ass and relax the rest of the day. And then the phone rings…
My downstairs neighbor, the one who lives with Drunk Neighbor, tells me her cat is sick. He’s just lying around and won’t eat. Because I’m like the cat whisperer or something, I go down and check the cat. He is indeed a mess. He won’t eat, he won’t move, he won’t respond to anything. I tell her she needs to take him to the vet immediately. She tells me that the cat hasn’t been right for about 2 days, but then Drunk Neighbor interrupts and says that he noticed that the cat hasn’t been himself for 4 weeks. I ask him why he didn’t take him to the vet then, but got no real answer because Drunk Neighbor was, well, drunk.
I decide to drive my neighbor and the cat to the closest emergency center where we find out he has a blocked urinary tract and that they have to perform an emergency procedure where they unblock him, but then they’ll have to keep the cat for 2-3 days for observation. My neighbor has no problem with the money, she just wants her cat better. We leave and let them do what they need to. About 1o minutes after we get home, my neighbor calls me hysterical crying that they had to put the cat down because he went into cardiac arrest as they were doing the surgery.
I feel so bad for her. The cat was only 2 years old. But here’s my issue…how do not know your pet is sick? Maybe I’m harsh, but I can honestly tell you that my pets are in great health. I can tell you when they last ate, when the last drank water, when they used the box. I have had sick animals before, so I stalk these poor cats like a psycho hypochondriac mom. I’m always checking their paws, looking in their mouths, feeling their bellies. I’m always messing with them. They are my babies. So if one of these spoiled-ass cats started acting “not right” for even 1 day (let alone 4 fucking weeks) my ass would be at the vet. This really bothers me.
Now, I’m finally relaxing. My body is tired and I’m a little stressed out and sad. Poor Snooki the Cat. I have no idea why my neighbor named the poor cat that, but that was his name. He has a brother named Skittles and I’m sure the little guy will miss him. Skittles is perfectly healthy and will be going to the vet for a check-up this week because I told my neighbor I would stalk her until she took him.
Ugh. So much for a relaxing Sunday.
This might be my favorite breakfast recipe of all time. I make a huge batch on Sunday and then eat it all week. I don’t eat refined sugar, so there isn’t any in this recipe. If you are a sugar eater, then replace the agave nectar and stevia with 1/2 cup of sugar.
3 cups milk (I use cow, but coconut, soy, almond, goat…whatever, will work fine)
1 cup water
1/4 cup agave nectar
1 tbsp of powdered stevia
20 drops each of liquid cinnamon and vanilla stevia (if you don’t have these, use another tbsp of powdered stevia)
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/8 tsp ground clove
1/8 tsp ground cardamom (optional)
1 can pureed pumpkin
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup of raw pumpkin seeds
2 cups oatmeal
Bring milk, water, pumpkin puree, agave nectar, stevia (powdered and liquid), vanilla, and spices to a boil and whisk until all blended. Add cranberries, pumpkin seeds, and oatmeal to boiling liquid. Cook for 5 minutes on low and then let sit for 10 minutes to thicken.
Serve with milk and maple syrup or plain.
The week after my pants were scared off watching The Walking Dead was horrible. Everything that could go wrong at work did. My energy was super low and I was having trouble sleeping. And I was PMS’ing hard-core. I had Friday that week off and I needed to take of some cores, and then I was going to work on bringing some serenity into my life for a few days.
It worked. Last weekend I recharged and felt great. My work week last week was super busy, but a good busy. You know, the type of busy where you feel a sense of accomplishment at the end of it. I was stressed out. I felt back to my normal self.
I’ve been running for the past 2 weeks. I was following the Couch to 5K program until I ran the 5K a few weeks ago. I realized that since I can run 5K, then I should just run for 45 minutes and not worry about how far I go. Everyday, I run a bit faster and further. It feels really great. My mom is really getting into running as well. We have decided to run on the river every Sunday morning.
I have today off and I’m straight chilling until 4 when I will go to my mom’s and give out candy. I love doing this. I never get kids at my house and she gets loads. It’s so much fun. The only thing that’s annoying is when parents bring their babies up to trick or treat. It’s obvious that the parents want the candy since their 6 month old can’t eat it. I also get annoyed at the kids who think it’s okay to not dress up and that just because they come to the house, we should give them candy. I don’t want to give them candy, but my mom is afraid they’ll come back and vandalize the house. Other than those types of people, it’s a great time.
Fear of zombies is my crazy. I have tried desperately to get rid of this crazy, but because I insist on feeding the crazy with television shows like The Walking Dead, it’s impossible to cure the crazy.
I love The Walking Dead. What a gorgeous study of human nature and how it doesn’t change when faced with a life-threatening crisis such as the zombie apocalypse. Assholes will still be assholes, there are still leaders and followers, sex/food/water still drive humans to steal, lie, envy, covet, etc. There are moments of “no man is an island”/kumbaya/we’re stronger together…but really, it’s a fucking soap opera.
Yesterday, I watched 7 1/2 hours of zombie television. I don’t know why I did that to myself. It’s another argument that this show is that good. They got a straight up, pee-herself-scared-of-zombies-sissy to watch a marathon of their show…and still want more.
The first 30 minutes of the show stressed me out. They break down on the highway and a massive herd of zombies are walking down the road. They hide under cars and dead bodies, and damn. It was a slowly built, tension filled, gross scene that I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
After the show, I had to read some rubbish romance novel to get the zombies out of my head. My crazy was waiting behind the door to tackle me. I could feel it there. I read about a strong viral lord ripping the bodice off of some “no means yes”, voluptuous virgin who can’t stop staring at her lord’s manhood….until a zombie burst in and started eating them.
I decided to watch some comedy on TV. That finally put me to sleep. I turned off the television and dreamt a fucked up dream where a creepy old man was asking me if the kids in the park were fornicating while his creepier wife in a house-dress was pointing a shotgun at me. Yeah, real nice dream.
The alarm clock went off and I woke up thinking, loud noises attract them. I instantly looked out the window to see if there were any zombies roaming the street. I shit you not. I did this. I then told myself to ignore the crazy and that there were no zombies. If another person were there, they would have had me committed.
I went into the kitchen, turned on the light, and thought…the light attracts them. I called myself things way meaner than idiot.
I was all right the rest of the morning. I forgot about the zombies while trying to figure out what to wear to work. It was good to get my mind off of how stupid I was being. I got dressed without being nuts. I was free of my crazy.
But I had to get to my car in the dark. My crazy bitch-slapped me when I wasn’t looking and I ran to my car like I had a swarm of bees chasing me. Seriously. If my neighbors were looking out their windows, they would have either laughed or called the cops. After I got the car started and doors locked, I started to laugh. Really hysterical laughter. Who wouldn’t? I’m a freaking dumbass who just ran down her stairs and to her car like a lunatic.
Needless to say, there were no zombies. I’m ashamed to admit that I lost my mind for a few hours this morning. My crazy was hungry and I fed that bitch with guts and brains. I’m okay now, but really…I’m just stupid.
Will I continue to watch The Walking Dead? Hell yes, just not at night. Never again. And not a marathon…never never never again will I feed my crazy like that.
But just in case…remember to destroy the brain.