Monday, October 30, 2006

Today was a good day to rock

I cannot yet go to bed having not yet done every last thing to perfection. It is nice to come close but my shoes are still laying kicked there, and books all catawampus about the desk, not even spine to spine. Otherwise I am an A++ everything, for on this one day in time I have done most every last thing as it should be done.

I have a little cat bun on my lap and she is warm. How can I push that off for a little straightening up? I am unable.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Its always something

I cannot reply to comments. I cannot access my feeds on bloglines. Cannot see my blogroll. Email, links, everything... If you can't even view half of each page on the internet the joy of being online is completely neutralized. Poor me, I know.

I am sure glad I have enough food and a home full of love and electric heat and soap. This is what I think every morning.

Nevertheless, the overwhelming lesson this year is (seems to be) STOP TRYING TO RUSH THINGS. One might think I was measuring myself for a coffin... so rushed to move on... that is if one believes one learns lessons in life as they become necessary to learn, in a serendipitous manner that is... then the ferocity of this year, and it has been a very fierce year indeed, might lead you to draw such conclusions.

I bought a picturecard of the Buddha and I am going to gaze upon it to remind myself to stop desiring things that do not exist in this moment, or to stop desiring things at all for that matter. Which might, in my case be a bad thing because I would just stay in bed. This is sometimes my desire but in this case it could just happen passively to me while I become enlightened.

FAT CHANCE AT THAT!

Last night I held the fingertips of my left hand on the scalding hot mesh in the back of the inside of the drier and they instantly blistered. Ouch. So much for that reflex arc. Am I demyelinating? What am I dying of now?? Its really too bad, get out the measuring tape. I want my fingers to not hurt. I want to get to the allhealedup part. Desire is like that.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Less Stress

I ran today for only the second time since the marathon. Between the internship and the actual workingwork there is only enough time to eat and change clothes, but at a comfortable pace. Finally today I ran and it was one of the top ten runs of my life. About a full forty percent of my runs number in the top ten, another fifty eight percent are in the top twenty, ninety percent are significant in other ways, thirty two percent of the time I break into my top ten most effective training runs, suprisingly some many miles are junk miles and I do not assign them ordinal prominance. Most or all make me a better person, more likable and with clearer eyes.

It was a lovely four miles. The evening was like a childrens book about October nights, furling chimneys and dry leaves. My heartrate was high on the hill back up from the park where would be the oak savannah sloping down to the river. It was 180 bpm, 8 to 10 percent higher then normal a mere three weeks after being in peak condition. That is how fast it happens folks. You never get fit and be done. Fitness lies where parallel lines meet. I am simply chasing it down the road.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Alone Again Or

I should be asleep. Should have been asleep at least an hour ago but a dreamiest of dreams to lay here with internet in the bed and read and write and listen to Stars which has all come true would keep me from that deep deep sleep.

I have two half-laptops... that is to say, my computer problems go on and on. Sascha loaned me one and my mother brought the other from Nevada. Fine lot of kindness for which all I am able to produce the required volumes of documentation for my intership, and lay in bed blogging. Where one is broke the other is whole. Mostly.

And I am living the dream.

My mother met my future in-laws tonight which was more or less the point of her trip. I just let these things go you know, like these people are adults and have managed thus far to not kill me by having a conversation... and they have all managed to stay alive for sixty odd years so perhaps they can have a conversation and I wont need to moniter every word cause I am going to marry this man anyway. Maybe even if things go horribly wrong.

So I let it go and drifted away from the conversation when I heard my mother start in with ...THIS CORPORATE FASCIST REGIME... shortly before my mother-in-law had looked at me and asked sotto voce IT IS SAFE TO TALK ABOUT POLITICS RIGHT? and winked at me and I just let go and nodded because it is after all, safe to talk about politics. Mostly.

They are adults.

I still blog privately. I know other people who say BLOG! freely and openly but I never say back BLOG! or even BLOG? because I can't do that... (unless you know me first by blog then why deny that I blog?) But tonight my mother asked the in-laws if they ever saw the pictures of my pinned wrist ON MY BLOG and I tried to kick her under the table but there was no table and I was across the room so this maneuver would have been less then subtle so I covered the word by quickly saying another word and everyone let it slip whilst I concentrated on mental waves of discipline in my mothers direction.

What sort of ettiquette should be observed around blogging. What awful things have I said here? Plenty. Most of it I cleaned up before I ever got my first comment. Besides that I dont much care for any of it anyway. Its embarassing. It is indulgent. Ugh.

The more and more real this exchange becomes the more dismayed I become. Or confused I guess. NO, dismayed. Like, what if someone mentioned they had a blog and told me the URL and then I didnt say anything back about my own BLOG but I went to their blog reading it, and even observing some privatey type stuff? I'd feel like a cheater and a creep because I didnt say a thing. And what of stats? Where everyone knows you read them and stalk them and how long you stalk them for in the middle of the night even if you never post comments. Isnt that inherently creepy? That I can be stalked while stalking? I dont know.

I should have been asleep a few hours ago. I think I will sleep well.


You know that I could be in love with almost everyone

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Irascible

This sky is a gray and thrilling misty menace that gives me a little seizing in my heart. I thrive in this kind of weather, all my hope and love and failure writ there, curling down through tree limbs. The sky is so close overhead the future fades away. Finally.

Last night I went to see Bobby Bare Jr. at Berbati's with the winsome Mr. Brown and an entourage of friends. Berbati's sucks, and I will never go there to see a concert again. Like I said last time. Like I will say next time. Still, bad sound does not dampen charisma. I highly recommend the company of Mister Bare, or even just an entourage of friends. Anytime.

The week before that I spent a night out on the town with (the pre-Tequilacontourage?) Brandon, Sybil and Vahid... and other nonlinkable persons Kevin and Chelsea (blogless as far as I know). Though the group was inspiring and the evening entirely blogable, unfortunately my computer expired tragically the very next morning.

Since, the memory is lost... because of the weather, which swallows up the past as well.

But I do remember Brandon smoked a cigarette butt out of someone else's ashtray. He gets 50 punkrock points. And I remember that Vahid waited with me until my taxi arrived... or somebody's taxi because on a Friday night only the bold ride in cabs and the rest wait and wait and wait. I stole.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

SIGH...........

It is cold gray and I want to turn on the heat high and burrow into the couch cushions. I don't want to look at my computer anymore, in pieces, probably never going to do work again. And because my failure with the computer I don't want to fold my laundry either, nor do I want to wash my tea cups, clean the frog tank or wash my hair. I don't even want to go run.

I drove all the way to the Fireside Cafe to send emails to my mentors, internship starting next week. Tomorrow that is. And I forgot the piece of paper with the email addresses.

An incredible fatigue overcomes me when life becomes distasteful or saddened by setbacks. Sometimes I spend days walking through the poppy fields. I can barely keep my eyes open right now and might not even be safe to drive back home.

Blast.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Wish me luck anyway

Now that the biggest challenges of this season have been met I am finding in fact, that I don't feel better but that I am actually breathless, where by breathless I mean literally gasping for air. The truth of the matter is, though I am willfully hurling myself into it yet again, I hate the interpreting program. HATE, HATE, HATE.

I don't hate interpreting, but the learning environment. At the end of each summer while I attended, with the prospect of returning to class I became mysteriously anxious, sleepless, tearful without provocation and short of breath. Now I am shoring up to head back in for one last term to complete the internship I was unable to participate in last spring due to having a broken wrist.

Again I am finding myself with shallow breath and a curved spine. I hate this interpreting program. I hate everything about it. I hate the way it is run. I hate the philosophy by which it is administered. I hate the injustice of its discipline and the lack of discipline, and respect, in its administrators. Why has this been such an emotional bloodbath for me? I am responsible and responsive, smart enough to know when to keep my mouth shut and respectful enough to be marginally likeable. But in case I didn't make it clear, I FUCKING HATE, FROM THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF MY SOUL, THIS INTERPRETING PROGRAM.

This experience has been, by far the most unpleasant pursuit of my adult life. The bile in my mouth has an uncanny discomfort that tastes like the pain of adolescence... to be treated with sweeping disregard, useless, thought clueless, held in low esteem, and without provocation berated for minor indiscretions, often times the responsibility for which is not in the slightest mine.

I know when I leave those grounds having completed my academic requirements that the wretchedness will remain behind, in those walls, in those homes, in those hearts and that is all the justice I need. I won't take it out into the world with me.

I still love what I do.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Portland Marathon 2006



There are some things that seem to get smudged in the mental recreation of my marathon experience. For example, I distinctly remember immediately at the end of last years race saying NEVER AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN. I WILL NEVER RUN A MARATHON AGAIN. But later I could not for the life of me remember why, so went blithely ahead with plans for the next race.

Before things get too hazy I'd like to make a note of some of those pains and sorrows here so as to make a more educated decision before I plunk down the money, or put out my heart and soul for next years run.

Believe it or not, marathon running is not a four hour orgasm. Maybe the first few miles you coast on the emotional high of accomplishment. Adrenaline alone will carry you about half way through running harder then you ever trained to run. Then you sober up to the daunting realization that you used up your mojo and the road still stretches into forever... to that point where your legs go numb, and your brain goes numb with the futility of begging for rest and your stomach revolts at the thought of even water.

This year I really struggled between miles 15 - 20. If it wasn't for the gun to my head I might have peeled off and curled up under a tree sucking on a garden hose. Instead I made deranged analogies to the nature of pain and why it was in my best interest to continue to suffer one footfall after another. Somehow it meant I would be better off in life.

I know, I know, but look at the circumstances... the best I could do was conflate pain with meaning.

By 20 miles my heart was broke, along with my will to resist. There is no comfort in the mileage signs. The assurance that this race is almost over are shallow and meaningless. This will endure eternal, so mean three miles to forever. I try to overlay the remainder of the course on routes familiar and safe to me ...its only as if we were running the corridor... And I try to use perspective ...look at how far we've come... but it means nothing to me. I feel no gratitude, no relief, no deliverance. I just keep running.

For the last mile I mount an offensive. Shoulders back, chest up, chin square, I pick up the pace, dropping the competition like flies and cross the finish line in 4 hours and 10 minutes. Runners have been crossing the line for an hour and fifty minutes before me and will continue to stream in for at least four more hours after. Some of them look strong and satisfied, many look devastated, but most simply look like they are ready to stop running.

In the finishers chute I sit on the curb and hold an orange slice for several minutes before I have the confidence to put it to my mouth. Out in the crowds my friends and family are waiting with pickles and flowers and dry clothes. After a few minutes I make my way out to them. Already the myth is spinning.

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