I have a new job. After several months of not working I am a gushing fountain of optimism and workful joy! I am still a fucking waitress. I carry heavy plates. Sometimes people order Nachos and I carry two heavy plates, one cool ceramic plate under the baked hot ceramic plate which I deliver with the nurturing admonition to not touch the top hot plate (for she burns). This task, when Nachos or else, is burdensome and painful to my left wrist. Stupid bastard wrist. My wrist ruined my life.
I have nothing else I want to write about.
I am not honest enough and have painted myself into a dishonest corner. I have had growing pains of honesty, when little bits of myself became revealed on the blog. Now I am crowded with unfessed bits and I cant write around them. My father suggests I post more often lest people lose interest and drift away. Drift on I say. I think they drifted long time ago.
I have drifted.
Clark has tear-ing and torn-ish tendons in his right hip, so they say for what sense it makes. I run on. Run-Ish. Actually I missed a day after my 20 mile run last weekend so I ran 10 miles the next day. Strained my right quad. Decided to rest a couple days. Ran 13 more because time is lost and then felt even more strained. So strained in fact I stiffened up immediately and, on the way back to my car could not count on any leg muscles stretching far enough to accommodate my normal gate. This has never happened to me.
So I have found the strength to bench myself for one week, even though I feel fine today. This is both my hard earned wisdom and enduring fatalism.
There is a delicate balance between healing and hurting. To become stronger you must damage the muscles. Tear them down. They are designed to become stronger by abuse. But they must rebuild after being destroyed. If you begin to destroy again too soon you reach an equilibrium and plateau, making no progress, or you destroy destroyed tissue and are thus unable to perform any destroying task.
I guess I assumed that if I could run 20 miles and not feel a thing the next day there was nothing to hold me back because there was no healing there happening. It always comes down to my essential lack of faith in the world. I am thrilled when seeds germinate in my garden because I don't believe it will really happen for me. I am amazed my mitochondria are increasing their densities, that I can actually go farther faster every time I run out the door.
Recently Clark scolded me harshly for my lack of faith. Using his hands to demonstrate the scope of my perspective, cupped close he said YOU THINK THIS IS THIS and he cupped them far AND YOU CANT SEE THAT IT IS MERELY THIS cupped close A MOMENT IN TIME, AND YOU ARE READY TO BOLT BECAUSE YOU CANT SEE BEYOND THIS MOMENT, AND YOU FEEL TRAPPED. BUT LIFE IS BIGGER, IS MORE THEN THIS VERY MOMENT.
And he went on to be right about a various number of my faults. But the essential conundrum I have always surfaced upon is that I never have believed. I fail to believe that working my ass off in school will improve my life, and indeed, though the debt mounts, it looks very much like my life lacks any improvement at all. I fail to believe that we will be able to claw our way out of this tiny falling down house we live in. That we will be able to pay for a wedding. Surmount debt and demon. If my dreams were vest in the breaking of a vase I would fail to believe that vase should fall to the floor were I to poke it. I scarcely believe the day will dawn tomorrow.
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