no, i'm not pining...

This!

piece of gas

Last night after I lost my temper at my son, who was still awake and being silly at 11 o'clock at night, I told him the story of me and my cousin, Luke Duke, and the episode of laughter that got us in big trouble one summer. We were young, like maybe 8 and 6. We had been out at my aunts house until late and had both almost fallen asleep on the drive home (to my other aunts house, this was in Winnipeg). His dad carried him in the house from the car and put him to bed in the top bunk and my mum carried me in and put me to bed in the bottom. They left the room, closed the door, and *bing...we were awake. We got to that place where we couldn't stop giggling and being silly and annoying. My mum came in and yelled. My uncle came in and yelled. Finally my mum came in and threatened. We were quiet. Until my cousin farted. Faces pressed into our pillows, panic mounting that an adult was going to hear our hysterical giggles i made the worst possible choice and spoke...I said, in a Kermit the Frog style voice, "Piece of gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssssssss". And that was it. We were convulsing. We laughed so hard it hurt. We couldn't stop. The grown-ups came in, they stared at us with hard eyes. They hated us in that moment, we could tell, but nothing could stop the laughter from coming. My son loved the story, but I'm not sure it made any impact. It's currently 10:30pm and he's still messing around in his bed, calling for water and tuck-ins and trying wake his sister up as an accomplice. I guess it's a rite of passage - being and idiot at bedtime.

Omg, I'm becoming so boring. All I can think about is myself. It's like when I was pregnant and could only thing about things related to baby...only now it's running. I can only think about running. When. If. How.

Okay, so I'll try another track. I'm going to be travelling soon. That's exciting. Yep. Taking the kids to someplace hot in the fall, really hoping to find a good deal to Tulum because it looks so beautiful and calm there. And then Winnipeg in December. In the meantime, I'm taking the kids the fair next week. In a wheelchair. Yep, they're excited because it means they can hitch rides when they get tired of walking. I'm excited to because it will be me doing something with them this summer that they're actually excited about.

School is going. Was all pumped to finish the next paper and then this morning the profs announced an extension on the deadline from Sunday to Wednesday. Not a good thing for me since I needed the pressure to get it done. Wednesday deadline is still very procrastinatable.

Okayyyyyy, still thinking about running and myself. I hate everyone who can run. Like officially, if you can run, and you talk to me about it, I'm going to feel some hate for you. Oh, and I hate everyone who tells me that I'll come back from this stronger. And I hate everyone who says they can't imagine how hard things are for me right now. And I hate everyone who keeps asking me how I'm feeling/doing. Or, if there is any progress. IT'S A FUCKING BROKEN BONE PEOPLE...IT CAN'T HEAL ANY FASTER THAN BONE HEALS. I have really felt lately like people can be so clueless about how others might be feeling. I know it's my choice to react to things or not, but some people need to think harder before they speak. I have this one friend who I met for a picnic dinner a couple of weeks ago. She has kids the same age as mine and when J and I were still married our two families used to vacation together in the summer. Well J still meets up with them when he takes the kids away. So when we met up for the picnic my friend starts making a huge deal with my kids about how excited she is to go boating with them! Asking them where they want to go! What they want to do! Rehashing old memories of past summers...only I'm there with them this evening and I won't be with them on the vacation. It was heartbreaking for me to sit there and listen to all the great things my friend is going to be sharing with my kids that I won't be. Do I think she did it on purpose? No. Did I lose some respect for her because of it? Yes. Seriously, think before you speak.

Jezuz, I hate where I'm going. That dark place that I haven't been to in so, so long. The place that I've been avoiding for 20 years. Maybe that's what this is all about. Depression has just been lurking in the recesses, waiting for an opportunity to reclaim me. I may have beat it way back, but it never let me go completely and now is the prime opportunity to launch an attack. To take me back.

I had this amazing (for me) realization today that there is no sense planning for the future because I am living my future right now. Saying to myself that I will make a change in the future, or when the time is right is ridiculous because the future is now, I am living it and every choice I make is writing it. And so I finally understand the saying, "how we spend our days is how we spend our lives." If I want to write a book I need to write a book. Saying to myself that I will do it later when I have the time is completely absurd. There is no later. There is only now. To quote Yoda, "Do, or do not. There is no try"

uh oh

I can't help but feel like these past three months have been a dream. Have I truly spent 9 weeks unable to walk? I'm not getting any better, and it's become a true case of cognitive dissonance, I should have taken my recovery more seriously from the beginning. Should have recognized that i had no control over the situation, that I couldn't power through it the way I normally deal with life's challenges. Had I done that I would probably be well by now. I feel fractured in mind and body, I just can't come to terms with what is happening or with what my future might look like.

There's no sense to reality. It simply happens. Wisdom, by definition is philosophical detachment from life's disasters. Not my words, Camille Paglia's, but so apt that I feel I couldn't really have said it any better. My life has officially become postmodern.

F*ck. It's official. I'm depressed.

thanks for the abuse

We all have secret stories inside us. I know this. But does everyone find themselves overwhelmed by the stories? Choose reality, the rest is just a figment of your imagination. But, how do I know which story is real? Oh yes, the senses. When I'm with a man, the smell, the weight, the feel of his body on mine - that is real. Food. Food is real. So eat with violence, destroying and devouring flavours. Running. Running is real. The pain. The glory. The beauty. The rush.

The hurt and harm of being human. The small acts of violence and betrayal that we inflict on ourselves everyday. I guess that is reality.

"Did you ever see the pictures of Sheryl when she was younger though?"
"Hmmm?"
"She was stunningly beautiful."
Wife looks through him, eyes of hurt and hate. Waiting. Waiting.
"Okay, shall I get a Thai Chicken wrap before we go? We can split it for lunch...that way I don't have think about it"
He fiddles with his scar, feels for a beat. He had a heart attack last month. There are devices in his chest now. A pump, some wires.

If you want to know what's important to someone then pay attention to what they photograph. Or, ask them? I don't know, seems like sometimes we revel in making things more difficult for ourselves. I am one of those, too polite for my own good. Coffee, quiet pauses, private thoughts, and a beautiful view...1 point for me :).

cabin fever

Everything I needed to know I learned at summer camp.

This has been the hardest week yet. I don't know why I've hit the wall so definitively over the past few days, but the reality is that I am quickly losing my ability to retain perspective. To be perfectly honest, and wildly dramatic I admit, I don't want to be alive this way anymore. I hate my life right now. Despite the good parts, I am sufficiently beaten down by the bad parts and for the first time ever I can honestly say that I would be happy to check out early. Life for me is about freedom and movement and physical joy...without a body I have no reason to live.

But, I'm a long way from giving up completely. Which brings me back to the summer camp thing. As I was stepping into the shower after pool running today I got a text from a friend saying that her dad's pancreatic biopsy came back positive for "cells" - further testing is needed, but the family is on high alert. I thought briefly of my own situation and of the 7-billion people on this planet who are all in various stages of life, careening towards their inevitable end in various states of being. And then the song Kumbaya sprung into my head, and yes, I know it's hippie dippy, but there is wisdom in that song. Someone is dying, someone is laughing, someone is hurting, someone is loving, someone is crying, someone is laughing, oh lord kumbaya. In a lot of ways summer camp was all about loss and acceptance and impermanence. The inevitable homesickness, the camaraderie of banding together with your peers, the short time spent saturated in fun and discovery, the feeling of independence and being removed from all that was familiar - only to be returned home at the end of it all as if nothing had happened and discovering that home was not the same as it was when you left, and never would be again.

As an addendum to what I wrote above...I'm okay. A lot of what is going on mentally is due to sleep deprivation and real life stuff that is preventing me from resting. I need to rest to heal, but my life just isn't conducive to that at the moment. So I get keyed up. And then I get negative. And then I get emotional. And then I realize that the only thing that could set everything right again is to go out for a run and...well, that's a vicious circle. Oh lord, kumbaya.

review

Recently I was introduced to the concept of personal artifacts and how the documents of our life tell a story about us. I reflected about how I frequently read back through my paper journals to see where i was and what I was thinking in the past, but I don't ever seem to consider reading back in my blog. Despite the fact that the digital documents are more likely to survive for longer, the lack of tangibility seems to render them invisible when I'm looking to reminisce. So, on that note, here's a post from 10 years ago that made me laugh:

wochenende

Today is Monday. Now that my hours at work have been reduced I really don't get any particular feeling about Monday. For all I care, it could be Friday. I'm going to have a lot of time off this summer. The downside, of course, is money. But, I'm of the opinion that my time is much better spent enjoying myself than being sold.

I went to a party in Kits on Sat. night. It was ok. Except that I hate parties and most people annoy me. There was this one guy and his girlfriend, he's an architect and she's a teacher. He was going on and on about all these fabulous buildings that he's designing and about how his job is oh-so important. The girlfriend hardly said a word. She just sat there, nibbling red peppers and looking anorexic. Anyway, the guy (who also, by the way, had a ponytail a la 90's style) starts telling me this story, which is supposed to illustrate just how important and pivotal he is to his company. The story is about how he and the stick girl were in Cuba and the plans for a new building had to be drawn up immediately so that government funding could be procured. "We were lying on the beach in Coooba...eating dinner in Coooba...talking on my cell phone in Coooba...blah, blah, Coooba". I started to get he feeling that this guy really liked saying the word "Coooba"; as if pronouncing the name of a country correctly was going to somehow separate him from the masses. What a goof. Later on in the conversation we got onto the topic of old Vancouver versus new. I mentioned that I had grown up in Van and that since moving back after 6 years away I had noticed some changes to the city that I wasn't too keen on. Long hair asked me what I meant. I felt like saying, "Yuppie shits like you and your stick figure girlfriend are taking over my fair city. You're pumping her full of money and cheap housing and media culture. You're killing the mom & pop shops and replacing them with big box and you're turning three wheeled baby strollers into the must-have accessory of the year!" But, instead I said something about too much traffic and an increased population. Honestly, I liked it when BC was in an economic slump. I liked it when everyone was moving away. Stay out of my goddamn city! Stay off my trails and off my roads and get the fuck out of my neighbourhood! Sometimes I have this little daydream while I'm wandering the forest trails. I dream about being the last person left after a holocaust or some sort of biological disaster. I try and imagine how I'd feel, really. And, I think I would like it.

So after Saturday night I ended up at another BBQ on Sunday night. This time though, with friends. Real friends. The ones who you know all their dysfunctions but still like them. We're such a funny group, but I really love those guys.

independence

So, last week I set up my son's iCloud account and gave him free rein to use the computer to text and email with his dad, nana, sister and me...it feels like the beginning of a new era. I got 25 texts in an hour. Most of them included emoticons that depicted either poop or kisses...and I'm okay with that. He's eight, almost nine. Seems appropriate.

I started thinking about what my life was like when I was his age, about what I remember. I remember walking to the store to buy my mother cigarettes - I was such a nerd that I used to make her write a note just in case the 7-eleven clerk might think I was a hooligan buy-in them for myself (yes, 8 year olds could buy cigarettes in those days...I'm just that old). I remember taking the bus to school by myself, but then electing to walk home, despite the fact that it took almost an hour, just so I could use the bus fare to buy candy. I remember a trip to the neighbourhood park with my best friend that ended in a sprint back to my house because we were approached by a creepy stranger who wanted to give us a ride somewhere. I remember getting caught for lying about doing my homework months after the fact and thinking that life was completely unfair and stupid. I remember the big threat whenever I was upset was that I was going to run away and never come back. I remember thinking I could make it too.

My school when I was eight.

I guess my point is that most of my memories from that age have to do with my emerging independence. I was establishing myself in the world and was proud of myself when I was able to do things on my own. I was happy whenever I had the chance to go exploring alone and even when bad or scary things happened. I enjoyed the experiences enough not to be deterred. I'm really glad that I can start to foster this in my own child now. I'm really proud of him.

Pool running. Ya. I know several people have extolled the merits of pool running over the past year...I know it's good for form and fitness and low impact training. But I hate it. I smell like chlorine ALL THE TIME. The pool sucks. It's boring. And there are always other people there. I don't like people...that's why I run with headphones in the forest dammit. I'll find out later this week where I'm at in the recovery process. Lots of tears today because I have this terrible feeling that things are not healing well. I have this terrible feeling that I'm going to find out I f'd up my recovery by pool running or living or whatever-ing and then it'll be game over - hip replacement at 40. Seems unlikely, like how could that happen to me (???), I'm just a recreational runner for christ's sake! But the orthopaedic doc has really put the fear in me that this is not going to heal properly and that I will never be the same again. I really, really hope he's just a douche bag who scares patients into compliance instead of being right. Fingers and toes crossed, prayers and sacrifices to the running gods, yada, yada, yada. Amen.

eff u

Today I am not okay. I want to be, I'm fighting to find gratitude. To find grace and humility and respect. I just really miss running. It seems crazy, that could I possibly be so attached to this activity, but it just IS that way. I can't think straight anymore. After two and half months of not running I feel like a very important piece of myself is withering. My joy is gone. And the worst part is, there is no end in sight to this situation...my leg isn't healing. It still hurts and I'm still 100% non weight bearing on crutches. I hate everyone who is running, who can run. I hate everyone, period. I'm becoming self-loathsome and regretful and stingy and mean. I'm not myself. At least, not my best self.

I know why I'm crashing today...the kids came home from their vacation with J this week. I'm so very happy to see them, but life with two little kids in this state is so, so difficult. I'm tired and sore from trying to keep up with them and take care of them...how can I possibly do this for another 6 weeks?

Shit. What a depressing post. K, there is good stuff in the world still. I'm planning a trip to see my three amazing cousins and their families after Christmas. I'm also planning to take the kids away somewhere hot and/or fun in the fall (assuming I can walk). My love is growing daily for a very special man and his love in return is a bright light in my somewhat dark life. It's summer, and the weather is fine and cheerful. Blueberries and cherries are still in season. My kids are happy, healthy, and safe and continue to amaze me with their views on the world everyday.

So, no. It's not all bad. I just really, really, really miss running. And the forest. I miss my old self.

insert leap here

Sitting at my desk, seeing the dappled sunlight dancing on the desktop from the window behind me...thinking about the passage of time and how out of control I feel at the moment. I sometimes wish that I wasn't a person who felt sadness, emptiness, melancholy so deeply. But then, I wonder...would I feel the highs if I didn't feel the lows? Running, oh I miss you.

To be clear, this sense of being powerless to control my future doesn't feel awkward or unwanted; it feels invigorating. There is a journey open to me that I have been avoiding for so many years, a journey into challenges, triumphs, failures, happiness, and heartache that I have carefully been avoiding through my routine life for so long. I have goals. I have worth. I have love. I have everything I need to be happy and free.

I remember running in the headwaters in March, following the river and imagining myself as a leaf being swept up and carried around with the wind. Then, a few nights ago, I had a dream of being in the desert and getting swept up by the wind in the same floaty way. I sort of wish that I could read ahead in my story and see where certain choices are going to take me; I don't feel like I have a lot of time left, and certainly not enough time to be making poor decisions that will take me off course. I'm trying to be methodical in thinking about what I want for the rest of my life. I'm trying to position myself to get where I want to be. Barring future vision glasses, I will just have to have faith in myself and the circumstances around me. Leap.