good health can be hazardous to your health

ok, maybe i exaggerate. but i was working out last night (have decided to quell obsessive voice in head with exersize rather than sex and/or drugs) and was having a generally good time of it. sweating, breathing heavy, hurting just a little... (kinda like when i'm having a generally good time with sex and/or drugs)

i like to run. i also like the elipitcal trainer. i like weights. i like the gym. given my druthers, i go everyday. i listen to this american life while i'm huffing along. i annoy my fellow workers out with my random bursts of laughter. i stare out the windows at cooper mountain. these are good times.

what was not such good times yesterday was the sad injury i sustained when trying to re-rack my weights. now, you'd think by this point in my life, i would know my way around a rack (rimshot), but i misjudged my distance and pinched the holy living f*&k out of my index finger. pinching your pointed between a metal shelf and a 15lb barbell is not so much fun. hideous blood blister did ensue.

i hurt myself in stupid ways all the time and a huge proportion of these injuries occur when i am in pursuit of better health. hence, i'm all lean and fit and look like a victim of "enhanced interrogation methods"

sheesh.

stupid oldness

sigh.

friend lyza and i started a 10k training program this week. not actually going to run a 10k, just gonna train for one. this after about 9 months of depression induced inactivity. i love running. it makes me feel strong and i consistently get a gratifying runners high, so it's one of my preferred methods of getting/staying fit.

however. my joints are a'gin me. i've had trouble with hips, wrists, shoulders, elbows, and most pertinently here, knees. i bought some wonderful braces which allow me to run and ski in comfort, but i kinda hit the pavement pretty hard this week, and did it twice before i tried to ski on saturday.

the weather was lovely, despite it being kinda nasty in town. the snow was AMAZING. lots of it, and powder to boot. no wind. virtually no one on the mountain. conditions were pretty much ideal.

after about a dozen runs, i was kaput. usually i can ski for about 4 hours before my knees start to object with any vigor. to be fair, i skied pretty aggressively and got in a ton of runs really quickly since there was zero lift line wait, but i still felt like a wanker only skiing for 2 hours. good thing the lift ticket was cheap...

was meant to bike ride yesterday. uh, no. laid around in bed all day instead. ate a bacon waffle. probably undid any gains (losses) i managed with all that running and skiing. ah well. took some ibuprofen before my run this morning, seemed to help. may just need to do so preemptively from now on...

i want my blankie

today has been one of those days that can't be objectively classified as bad, yet is still end up feeling unaccountably sad.

i mean, it wasn't totally smooth sailing. i did have a hiccup about not having my schedule properly calibrated, but i think i got over that about 7.5 hours ago.

still, i'm sad. and when i look at babies i want to giggle and cry simultaneously. and i think ridiculous things about people who love me, and see disater around every corner, and i know this means my ovaries are to blame, but despite this powerful awareness, i cannot make myself seem to feel any less utterly swept up in my mope.

and, of course, my physician is OUT OF THE COUNTRY and not due to return until after the month end. and we hadn't managed to finalize my rx yet.

so what i really want to do is take a hot bath (which i cant because my hot water heater is retarded) and curl up in my blankie and cry. but instead i'm going to try and run.

run run run.

dog mountain and the return of the black toenail of doom

i'll be wearing open toed shoes for the rest of this week, regardless of the not-yet-actually-springlike weather. why? well...

someone i like a real lot suggested we hike up dog mountain. not knowing any better... i agreed. even though the weather was less than ideal, i slipped on my shiny new fleece and prepared to be a good sport. what followed was the first honest to god physical exertion i've even engaged in for about 9 months. not, i must say, the ideal way to re-initiate oneself. because though the hike is only about three miles, it is three miles straight fu&^%ng up.

about every 3rd switchback i had to stop and pant desperately. at some point one of my expensive already once replaced rigid gas permeable contact lenses LEAPT TO ITS DEATH out of my eyeball; i was breathing that hard. when we were about 2/3rds of the way up we reached the one and only actual bench-place to sit. and about 2 minutes after we plopped down it started to hail angrily and insistently down upon us. i think it was the hiking gods punishing me for my hubris, because the hail stopped about 5 seconds after we agreed to try and hide under cover of trees. sigh.

when we got up to the last mile remaining to reach the summit, it seemed we had coincidentally reached the snowline. and me in my capris no less. it was here that it hit me just how much i really DO like this person i like a real lot, because the only reason i made this last portion of the trip was to keep him from thinking i am a quitter or a wuss. plus also he held my hand and kinda towed me up the last 1/10th mile. i hear in the spring the wildflowers that bloom up there are breathtaking. however, the most breathtaking thing i saw was the place where the trail disappeared around the side of the mountain under knee deep snow.

and when we finally did reach the top all there was to see were the few trees we took shelter under and the bank of clouds that were still clinging to the mountaintop. i was so tired i couldn't even stand up for my victory summit snapshot.

and then, there was downhill. oh god.

i just got these shoes. i love them. they were amazing on the way up. good in the snow, nice and grippy, waterproof, lightweight... i was giving them a 10. but, well, they are about 1/2 size too small. and so, on the way down my toes were jammed into the front of the shoe in a way that just spelled owie. last time i had this feeling was coming down Neakhanie. and i lost the entire toenail on one side.

luckily i dont think it'll come to that, but its bad enough that i havent yet put on shoes.

Please: No Mo' Emo Ro Co

k? it's been a bit of an ass kicker lately. and i mean, i'm used to sad. sad is manageable. sad is familiar. it's the whipsaw back and forth from giddy excitement and joy to anxiety and dismay i'm having the most trouble adapting to.

as much as i have courted chaos in the past, i think i need him to mount his storm-grey steed and ride out of my life for at least 6 months. even if what he leaves in his wake isn't necessarily the most ideal scenario as i'd envision it, to be able to rely on a little emotional consistency would be a great relief to me about now.

or, barring that, knowing full well it is more than i have any reason to expect, the whole serenity thing would be okay. that which i cannot change and so forth. i have actually begun to actively court the notion that i need new ways to self-soothe, since most of mine require the intervention of someone else. and breathing and mindfulness can only go so far. soporifics and comrades can only do so much. wrapping up in my blankie and reading my favorite book for the 14, 236th time has a limited power to soothe me.and this tends to make me feel vaguely lost and small. it's nice to lean on people who love me when i can, but sometimes, i just can't. sometimes i am profoundly alone and there is nothing to remedy the situation. as such, i need means to comfort myself in those moments. i wonder, sometimes what other people do, to ease their fears and sorrow. and i know the timbre of pain is as singular as each person, but i have this vain hope that someone might have a suggestion i can make my own.

i am a fan of the litany. i'm trying to create one for myself for these days.... and there is always my blankie.

my stupid neck

still hurts. which was only annoying until it began to interfere with my ability to be the giver i am, and then became quite unbearable. tattoo seems to be healing better though.

turns out it’s snowing on the mountain. maybe there’s hope for one more day on the slopes before the season is over completely. finger’s crossed.

if not, spring sports are on their way. everytime i open the coat closet my tennis rackets beckon me, the discs for frisbee are just begging to be tossed around, my bike is dangling from its hook whispering my name, and of course, my dad won’t fucking shut up about us going golfing. which will be fun as long as he does not commit child-murder upon me for slowing him down too much on the links.




meanwhile i am trying to convince the offspring she is not in fact terrified of her trailer bike like she claims to be, but rather overwhelmed with JOY at the prospect of being dragged around behind my bike for the next few months. so far, there has been utter failing in this.

fuckow my neck

fuckow my neck
Current mood: pained

it's kinda getting it from all angles.

for some reason my tattoo is not healing well at all. i've only ever had one act this way once before, and it was my very first. its very sore and flaky and peeling and dry and scabrous. sweet, huh? i've been trying to keep it moisturized, but until i hit upon the combo of triple antibiotic ointment and diaper cream, nothing seemed to be working very well. now i think i'm going to have to have the work re-inked so it doesn't look uneven and faded. which sucks, cause i'll have to heal all over again. pftft.

also, slept wrong on my head last night, which means i cant turn my head more than a few degrees without it hurting rather pointedly.



stupid lucky bird

fuck fuck fuck fuck

and also fuck.

i suppose it's fairly plain to anyone that knows me at all that i am a terrible brat. i like to get my way, i'm insufferably vain, and i complain vociferously if all does not go according to plan.

so i shall commence here by pointing out that contracting the clinging cold from the depths of the 9th circle of hell a week and a half before my show was most certainly not according to any plan of mine.

so, fuck.

i figured that a week and a half should be plenty of time to recover. and i suppose, i must admit, things are better than they were. thursday before last i could only croak. now i'm back at about 80%. but i simply must point out... that sucks.

i mean, i'm hardly a virtuoso on the guitar. passing fair is generous. what i have, what i am is a voice. it's the best thing about me and it's being unreliable at the worst possible time. which makes me want to cry and break things. instead i'm going to take a break and fold some laundry.

Beggars still turn out choosy, in my case...

spent some time in the studio on saturday. went ok. of course, once we'd finished and i got home and listened to the cd we made, i wanted to cringe over and over and over and over.

sigh.

this is why albums dont get made in a day.

then i fell asleep on the couch cause i felt all oogy. woke up to Austin City Limits: James Blunt. the whole "you're beautiful" thing notwithstanding i REALLY REALLY REALLY like him. a lot. so i went out and bought both of his cd's yesterday. and got yelled at (justifyably) by my co-worker this morning for listening to the most tear-jerking song on the album about 17,267 times in a row.

also of note: aria believes that the natural enemy of the pirate is the ninja.

and i know at least 20 people who would go see THAT movie.


plus. i know what i'm getting for my next tattoo. so i can save the owl for later and bigger places on my totem pole.

I fall down alot...

Certainly a lot more than any other adult I know anyway. I guess if I reflect on the matter at any length, I can say I'm not the most coordinated person I know, and its true my balance cannot be said to be the best around, but still. There's something so profoundly shocking and embarrassing about falling down when you are a full-grown adult. It rivals the aching that goes along with it for the next 3 or 4 days.

Life lesson #45387: Just because you hook your finger into someone's belt loop doesn't mean they aren't going to keep walking away.

Right.

I hate Chistmas, kinda

Tis the season I start crying: wha wha wha wha wha. wha wha wha snort.

On the plus side, there is Almond Roca everywhere. Also the smell of pine. And hot lights.

The problem is, i really really really DO buy into the whole seasonal delusion that something magical and beautiful is supposed to happen. And that it requires the expenditure of time and money for that magic and beauty to occur.

My child does NOT want to go to the woods to hack down a fresh christmas tree for only $5. She lectured me about how it was mean to kill a tree that is out in the forest minding its own business providing us oxygen and scenery.

She also does not want to go see Santa at the newly remodeled Santaland at the Historic Meier and Frank building. Screw you, it's still Meier and Frank to me and always will be. This despite my EXTREME nostalgia for this place where I saw the Gingerbread Bear as a child. She doesn't seem to find MY nostalgia compelling for some reason, now that she is too tall to ride the monorail.

What DOES she want? A new Christmas dress and an iPod. Things I cannot afford, but feel extremely guilty about being unable to provide.

I do however look forward to all the singing and yelling. In the car mostly.

Crashing Sucks.

I'm fine. My car is munched. It was my fault. Stupid intersection at 14th and West Burnside. As additional punishment, I have to drive a Focus until my repairs are complete.

Splitting headache.

Poop.

Ovaries: Where can I relinquish mine?

I mean, they came in handy when I was trying to do that whole "reproductive" thing, but those days are behind me now, and frankly, apart from keeping the facial hair at bay, I can see no further use for mine.

They do however cause considerable annoyance to me at regular intervals. The ups-and-downs of life are one thing, but the 45 degree turns and screeching halts of my menstrual cycle are quite another. Also, I see no further use for a libido when I have no one handy to make use of it with, besides which the recently evolved habit of drooling over the inappropriately young football playing patients in the office is distracting me from important paperwork.

So, I just need to figure out where the local drop-off site is. I mean they recycle them don't they? Like Christmas trees?

True 'dat

How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one's senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to reality.
- Norman Douglas

All we can do is keep breathing...

Which is supposed to help, but sometimes doesn't. No amount of breathing is going to change the fact that things are scary and sad. It might change the intensity of the scary or sad feelings, but they don't go away.

If only, like Hansel and Gretel in reverse, I could follow my own breath forward to unlose myself. I suppose that is what's happening, if only in slow motion. Progress so incremental and elusive to observation as to be mythical.

And the temptation is powerful and recurring to keep my breath inside, to trail after it back into myself and hide there away from the light of the truth that hurts me so much that it steals the very breath I mean to pursue.


But instead, mostly, I chase after it out. Though it carries with it noises and meanings that would otherwise stay within, and I'm unsure they should have got out at all.

I wonder what I take in, and what goes away from me further, with each successive breath.

Oh my curvy pillow, why hast thou betrayed me?

I bought you particularly to avoid what I am feeling right at this very moment. The pain. All weekend I toted you around, even whilst I slept at a funny angle in my car you remained true and valiant. Why in my own bed on a random Tuesday night, do you fail?

Cause, now... well... owie.

Would you if you could?

With the quiet returned to you, you are no more inclined to try. Whatever recompense once served, doesn't any longer. Once you might have, but now you have come to see the wisdom of this way and it comforts you. No more longing. Lucky you.

p.s. you are the one riding the robot.

Sometimes, fun = ouch.

Ah, the weekend. A time for fun and relaxation, and drinking, and pain.

I decided this weekend was going to be JAM PACKED with fun, so I filled it up to the very brim with activities which included:

~Party in Lyle with campfire, cider, much revelry.
~Trip to Seattle for visiting cousin & general troublemaking.
~Possible trip to hot springs (failed).
~Sleeping in my car.

Apart from my realization that getting to the Olympic Hot Springs from Seattle is like a 3 hour endeavor, rather than the hour and a half I expected, all of these activities turned out to be quite fun. And diverting.

While in Seattle I was treated to a scooter ride. Which was awesome. I love motorcycles, but this was my first time on a Vespa. It was a quality experience. Went out to Discovery Park right around sunset. Drove through Magnolia, which was just stunningly beautiful, and walked out to the lighthouse. The weather was perfect, the sunset golden and pink.

Nighttime called for city-going: a gay bar complete with vintage prison porn circa 1964, naughtiness in a photo booth, street food, the most amazing wallpaper I have ever seen, and the cha cha lounge, the awesomeness of which I can only describe thusly: Underground, festooned with crap on every available surface, lit entirely with red bulbs. Sweet.

And all of this was grand. Plus I got to meet cousin's new beau who is so cute I just wanted to squish his head. Seriously. Grilled cheese for breakky. Tasty.

And then, came the consequence for all this fun. I began to notice my inner thighs and sacrum were emitting a crescendo of protest as the day went on. True, I'd been pressed into the metal frame on the back of the scooter for a while, but it hadn't hurt at all at the time, and even though I had to spread my knees enough to straddle the driver I didn't feel at all strained on the ride.

Well. Now. Apparently, I'm not as flexy and bendy as I like to think. Who the hell would have thought I needed to stretch before getting on a scooter for chrissakes? I suppose I'll know better next time...

The Lessons sunk in skin

Owl medicine is about vigilance, seeing through the darkness, and shedding that which is no longer required. So, then.

I'll carve it on my spine and hope to remember what I needed to gain from this and discard that which hinders me.

And it is as close to a name etched in my flesh as is likely to ever be...