Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Shopping list

Popped trunk

I never was able to recover from the smell of cat pee in my car. It did fade, and blend into the foam and fabric of the back seat but it did not go away. Like an olfactory PTSD, I found it impossible to undetect the smell. My car was haunted by that smell, and the ghost of the smell, and its poltergeist offspring as molecules of urine and the effluvia of the living blended, entwined and gave rise to new, more complex and foul aromas. That is an unholy marriage and I cry ASSULT!

My car has driven over 207,000 miles, and if we assume those miles were driven at a generous average of 50mph, that means I've been just sitting there, breathing and sweating and shedding cells for over 5000 hours (adjusted randomly for idling time at red lights and traffic jams) or about 208.3333 days. AGH! It's pungent from here!

But see, now that I am starting to rebound from the first trimester I found I was able to muster the strength to negotiate a business transaction with a local car detailing shop and, several gazillion bucks and one business day later, my car interior has been atomized and reconstructed more to my liking.

VERDICT: Smells like turpentine, should fade, but driving with all the window down in the meantime is, um, bracing. WORTH EVERY PENNY.



Owen chewed a hole in the floor. Nothing a few thousand hundred thousand million dollars cant fix. Thank god I work 34 hours a day and can obviously afford the lavish indulgence of a house-sized chew toy. I thought about prying up one of the boards and smacking him with it but only because I am human. It was obviously enough punishment to force him to pose next to his new and creative disaster. He couldn't bring himself to sit upright, and instead slunk over on his belly. Being a sadist I made him stay there while taking his picture from unflattering angles. ASSULT!



And finally, I bought myself some belly pants for pregnant ladies. I have run out of patience with ingenuity and make-do pluck. I have never felt sooo happy to put on a new pair of pants. WORTH EVERY PENNY.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Rather pleased with myself

Yesterday I ran my 1000th mile of 2008. It has been my goal to pass that mile mark for several years, but so far, I have never gotten there. One thousand miles is, unimpressively, only about 20 miles a week over the span of one calendar year. The real difficulty lies in making those distances consistently, through heat waves and downpours, injury, broken bones, sickness, weddings, travel, school, work, and occasionally, extreme and prolonged discomfort.

Lately I have found running quite impossible as the last few months have been perhaps the most profoundly uncomfortable months of my life.

Marathon #5
Sick, sick, very sick

They call it 'morning sickness' but I think 'unceasing wretched agony' is more accurate. I have hardly run since the marathon, but I think about it every single day. I just CANNOT(period) barely do it. I cannot, almost not overcome the lethargy. I am etiolated and panting from exhaustion, spring tears at the sight of an unfold pair of pants or the audacious smell of someone breathing across the room....

(seriously, do they have to do that?)

...and quite frankly, I will never do this 'knocked up' thing again. I think I should just have the baby now and then Clark and I can take turns sitting on it, avian style. In fact, I am ready for my epidural, please.

But I got my 1000th mile and my whole family ran with me (Clark and Owen and I (running for two!)*), and through all that, all 800,000 foot falls over the last year, I haven't learned at all how to be stoic about a touch of (air quotes) "morning sickness." I am such a wimp.



*Of course Willie didn't run. Duh. I count her there in spirit.

Sunday, November 09, 2008

Disordered sleep

Maybe it only happens about once a year, but I have these dreams sometimes that just completely undo me and I surface gasping and cry myself awake. For a half an hour last night I was inconsolable and cried until I was undone; shuddering, hiccuping and dehydrated in the dark next to my bewildered, sleepy husband.

DO YOU WANT TO TELL ME ABOUT IT? No, I don't know how. I can put my finger on and trace it as far as my arm can reach but it goes even farther. This goes back before I was born. There must be an infinity of sadness in me.

Sometimes things are best explained with graphs. I drew this today based on a few calculations I made as I fell back asleep.

Infinite sadness

Do I = f(x)? ...but I didn't draw anything on the Y axis? Does the X axis represent capacity for sorrow? I am aware that this demonstrates an absurd and wildly inaccurate grasp of mathematics but it was dark and my head was swollen. Still, there is truth here.

Barefoot in the kitchen

Tonight, with bare feet, I made hot spicy hot Pad Thai from scratch and it was restorative.

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