Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Reap What You Sow

There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark
Finally I can see you crystal clear
Go ahead and sell me out and I'll lay your shit bare
See how I'll leave with every piece of you
Don't underestimate the things that I will do

There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch
And it's bringing me out the dark

The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
Rolling in the deep
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
You had my heart inside of your hand
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
And you played it to the beat
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)

Baby, I have no story to be told
But I've heard one on you
And I'm gonna make your head burn
Think of me in the depths of your despair
Make a home down there
As mine sure won't be shared


The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
I can't help feeling

We could have had it all
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
Rolling in the deep
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
You had my heart inside of your hand
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
And you played it to the beat
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)

Could have had it all
Rolling in the deep
You had my heart inside of your hand
But you played it with a beating

Throw your soul through every open door
Count your blessings to find what you look for
Turn my sorrow into treasured gold
You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow

You're gonna wish you never had met me
We could have had it all
Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep
We could have had it all
You're gonna wish you never had met me
It all, it all, it all
Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep

But you played it
You played it
You played it
You played it to the beat.

--Adele, "Rolling in the Deep."

Monday, August 8, 2011

So Fly

"I'm so cool, too bad I'm a loser
I'm so smart, too bad I can't get anything figured out
I'm so brave, too bad I'm a baby
I'm so fly, that's probably why it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time."

--Barenaked Ladies, "Falling for the First Time."

My bike race on Saturday was a bit of a joke… I got dropped by the peloton at the first climb. My heart rate monitor almost exploded. I chased for about 5 miles, found another group that had been dropped and we worked together to try to catch the pack, but they were out of sight. Jumping into bike racing towards the end of the season is humbling. As a relatively successful triathlete I expected I would be able to “hang” for at least one lap of the course. Not so! Bike racing is a completely different beast.

Nonetheless, I was in Shenandoah with my bike, so there was still fun to be had. This was my “race recovery ride.”

I drove east from Luray on Route 211 to Skyline Drive and entered the park at Thornton Gap, near mile marker 31. I biked south.



14 miles from Marker 31 to 45: One hour ten minutes. 1100 feet of gain in the first 5 miles! But… it would all be worth it for the second half of the ride!

14 miles from Marker 45 to 31: Forty minutes. Lots of “whee.” Top speed 53 mph. At times it felt like skiing! The 11-year-old tomboy who crashed skateboards and built forts came to life.



Mile Marker 45:


Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Sweet Mercy!

"With the leg bone connected
to the knee bone,
and the knee bone connected
to the thigh bone,
and the thigh bone connected
to the hip bone.
Oh mercy how they scare!"

--Various Recording Artists, "Dem Bones."

Knee update:

Two thumbs up for acupuncture.

Two thumbs up for a single cortisone injection.

MRI indicated "advanced illiotibial band friction syndrome" (which we all knew) and a touch of arthritis which is probably in both knees because I'm a runner and I'm old. Absolutely no tears of any kind.

Orthopedist: "Go run. Tell me what happens."

I will let you know tomorrow.

:)

Rocketts Landing, here I come.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Why Concern?

What point could there be troubling?
Head down wondering what will become of me?
Why concern what we cannot see?
But no reason to abandon it.
Time is short.

--Dave Matthews Band, "Pig."

Believe it or not, I have an all-time *favorite* *song.* Considering how much music is a part of my life (heart, soul), I realized that it might surprise people that I can pick *just one song* and call it my favorite.

Quoting my favorite song (above), must mean I'm hitting the proverbial wall emotionally. One of the reasons I love this song is that when said wall appears, I can listen to it, and I'm reminded of the fact that I am so, so very blessed on this exact day, even if nothing changes and I die right this second, I would thank the Creator for the blessed sip of life that I was graciously given to live.

Right now, I feel like I need to listen to it over and over. My rational mind and my emotional heart are at odds with my current situation, and I feel that I have to pound the song into my brain at the moment, and it isn't sticking as well as I would like.

So here's the business: it has been about 4.5 weeks since the "incident" during which something peculiar happened to my knee and/or IT band and/or TFL such that I have experienced a sh*tton of anterior knee pain while running. My race calendar now officially reads: DNF, DNS, DNS. Phooey.

Oh, the knee. It bewilders. I thought it was getting better, then I ran just 3 little miles, and then in blew up again. Double phooey.

Treatments sought:

Physical Therapy
Results: I'm skeptical. I usually have a lot of confidence in PT, but for some reason, my progress was so miniscule that I barely noticed. Most days I felt worse after treatment. Yes, I know, that doesn't mean it wasn't working, but I decided to take a break for a bit. It was expensive, my PT was chatty and not working very hard, and she seemed confused by my up-and-down situation.

Massage Therapy
Results: good, but short-lived. Therapeutic massage can be quite painful, but I often felt quite good afterwards. It's expensive, so it will have to be used sporadically.

Acupuncture/acupressure/chiropractic
Results: good, but too soon to tell. I had my first treatment last week. The practitioner is an overtrained doc from China who is licensed in PT, Chiro, and needling, and when I see him next, I will bring my MRI CD.

Which leads to:

Orthopedics
Results: too soon to tell. The new orthopedist took an X-ray and had nothing new to report, so he ordered an MRI, which I had done this morning. I will go back for a reading of the pictures on Friday. Doc suggested that cortisone injections might be called for. A few people have expressed concern that cortisone injections can cause a breakdown of (what, exactly?) and warned against it, but I had 2 in my shoulder when I crashed my bike in 2004 and they helped immensely in reducing pain and inflammation. If this "issue" is simply a matter of inflammation in the IT Band, I say SHOOT IT UP and get this business over with.

Apparently I've been trying to throw money at a problem that only time and rest will fix.

Meanwhile, having to take a break from racing reminds me that:

1) I'm old.
2) I want a baby.
3) Those two things in combination are especially sucktastic, because:
3a) I am only getting older, and
3b) "Listen to your body" for me also means hearing the LOUD, OBNOXIOUS TICKING of that stupid clock, reminding me that I don't have a whole lot of time to make the baby thing happen, and then feeling the 2 ton weight on my chest when I think about never getting to hold my own child in my arms, never raising a family, never watching them experience the blessed sip of life, too.

It's like I had this switch in my mind that had two options: Racing and Mom. And if I wasn't doing one, I'd do the other. And now I have... neither. And I complain and pray for more from above. Does that make me a greedy little Pig?

They say the number one reason NOT to do an IronMan is to fill the void of something else that is missing in your life. If only my knee were healthy, that would be an option.

:)

Monday, May 23, 2011

Patience

"Said woman take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Said sugar make it slow
And we'll come together fine
All we need is just a little patience
Patience, yeah."

--Guns 'N Roses, "Patience."

One of my claims of prior coolness (though I will readily admit that I am not now, nor ever have been conventionally "cool") is that my first concert ever was Def Leppard in the seventh grade. My dad camped out to get me tickets.

My parents would not let me go see GNR when they came to town after that. Shucks. Still. I've karaoked "Sweet Child of Mine" and I didn't look at the lyrics once.

Anyway, I'm writing this to give an update on the knee situation, and to remind myself that I need to take it slow. The pain is going away, the prognosis is good, swimming has been a release and a relief, and with a little more "rest" (I put that in quotes because I am not really resting the way one should: feet up, no exertion, etc.), I should be fine.

This has been quite the scare for me, and the battle in my brain has been worse than the battle on my body, by far.

Patience, woman. Patience.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Listen

"And there are voices that want to be heard.
So much to mention but you can't find the words.
The scent of magic, the beauty that's been
when love was wilder than the wind.

Listen to your heart when he's calling for you.
Listen to your heart there's nothing else you can do.
I don't know where you're going and I don't know why,
but listen to your heart before you tell him goodbye."

--Roxette, "Listen to Your Heart."

If I took the appropriate amount of time to explain the next few sentences, it would derail the purpose of this blog post, so forgive me for just dropping this out there. When I was going through my divorce in 2008, my Reiki Master Lisa insisted that I had the power and the courage to make the right decisions for myself and to heal my own emotional pain... if only I could clear the clutter out of my mind and listen to my own inner voice. (She also insisted that I am myself an intuitive healer, but as I said, that's a whole other blog right there.)

Over the course of several months, I tried to listen. To find the direction of my own life from within. I read somewhere that the only compass we have for our lives is our emotions, so I tried to understand what I was feeling and why. I broke free of a relationship that confined me, and I began crafting my life with myself as the chief decision-maker. Happiness ensued.

As an athlete, I've tried to learn how to listen to my body in much the same way. Athletes come up with a whole lot of gadgets to try to get information about what our bodies can do. A stopwatch to see how much time it took to do something. A mapping website to see how far we went. A computer on the bike to tell us how fast we're going. And lately, more fancy gadgets can tell us our heart rates, power exertion, even our location on the planet. We use all of this "bio feedback" to help us make decisions: go faster? go farther? slow down?

We balance this information with what our brains, lungs, legs, arms, and other parts are saying. Does this hurt? Can I keep doing this? There's this urban myth that the most elite athletes are no more gifted or talented than others, they have just trained themselves to recognize and ignore the pain that won't kill or injure them. Yikes.

How do you know when pain is too much?

This past Saturday, I raced the Kinetic Half Iron distance triathlon in Lake Anna, Virginia. There were a ton of people from my triathlon club racing as well, and I was happy to be among them and to start my season. I was thrilled, too, to have a calm, strong swim (42:06), even if I couldn't see so perfectly and got a little off course once or twice (or three or four times). I was pumped to see some of my team mates at the start (Janie, Melissa, Adriana, Ellen) and in the water, too (who am I swimming next to? Oh, hi Hillary!).

I had a wicked fun time on the bike course, too, passing lots of Team Z and dudes from FeXY who were drafting (cheaters). It was entertaining when a 20-year-old boy tried to pass me... and then I smoked him on the biggest climb. I got annoyed when two guys tried to force me to draft. First they were drafting off of me, and then they *so kindly* tried to give me a pull by passing me, slowing down, and forcing me into their draft zone. Of course, by by USAT rules, I had a full 18 seconds to get out the draft or face a 2-minute penalty... not that there were ANY OFFICIALS ON THE COURSE (hence all the blatant cheating).

I refused to draft/cheat, so I had to continuously accelerate and pass them. I ended up pulling these two dullards for at least 6 or 7 miles. Indeed, I got a boost knowing that two guys (albeit 40 and 49 years old) were drafting off of ME... And the 40-year-old had an 808 on the front, a disc on the back AND an aerohelmet!

But, when I was alone on Post Oak Road, grinding it out in the head winds and false flats... a conversation started happening among my gadgets and myself.

Mile marker: 45.
Watch: 3:07.
Heart rate monitor: 148.
Brain: "Wow. Only 11 miles to go. And that heart rate is WAY TOO LOW. If I work a little harder I bet I can bring it in to T2 under 3:40. That leaves me 2 hours and 20 minutes for a sub-six and 2 hours and 4 minutes for a PR. Wow. Legs, go faster."
Legs: "Yes ma'am, but let's chat in a few about what's happening on the right."
Stomach: "How about a snack? And some water?"

As I cruised in to transition with about 3:38 on my watch, I saw AJ and Ellen on the run course. Ellen spotted me and cheered me in (this is why you ALWAYS wear your club race kit!!!). The end of the bike course was a downhill, so I was coming in fast, and the volunteers were flagging me to slow down and dismount at the line. I clipped out and started the clop-clop-clop run to my transition area in my bike shoes.

Knee: "WTF."
Brain: "Get into your running shoes. It will be fine."
Heart: "WTF."

In T2, I racked my bike, got out of my helmet, shoes and glasses, and slapped on my visor and running shoes. I took 5 steps out of T2, and I felt a sudden, searing pain below my knee and up my right IT band.

Knee: "I SAID, 'WTF.'"
Brain: "Walk it off."
Heart: "Oh dear god I hope I can walk it off."

For the next 4.5 miles, I walked and sobbed, trying every few minutes or so to run a few steps, experiencing the stabbing pain in my knee again, and stopping in defeat. My heart sank. My brain calculated that I could walk to a 6-hour finish. My knee screamed for me to stop.

I had never quit a race before. My lungs felt fine, my energy level was up, and I wanted to go, go go. I could not. As people passed me and said things like "You can do it, girl!" and "Don't quit now!" I wanted to scream at them. I didn't want anyone to think that I wasn't capable of doing it, or that I wasn't fit enough or strong enough.

I said, "Heart says yes, knee says no," and they understood.

Then I saw all my team mates. Janie, Travis, AJ, Courtney, Ryan, Ellen, Adriana, Dirk... one by one they saw me and tried to lift my spirits while convincing me to get off the course for my own sake. Adriana put her arm around me for a minute and told me it wasn't worth it. I could see the sympathy in everyone's faces. Dirk even stopped his race to give me a hug.

Forty-eight hours later, I've spent a lot of time inside my head and heart, worrying about my knee, fretting about my season, crying, icing, and trying to figure out WTF happened. Thankfully I have an incredibly supportive boyfriend who will see me through this and won't let me do any more damage to myself. At this very second, all I want to do is go work out (in part so I don't lose fitness, in part for the calorie burn and in part for the stress relief), and I know I must not. Cannot.

I will swim and rest for a few days, and spend some more time just trying to listen.

Incredible thanks to all who supported me.

I totally would have had a top ten finish in my AG....
Bugger.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Silent

"Sometimes, I said sometimes
I hear my voice
I hear my voice
I hear my voice
And it's been here:
Silent all these years."

--Tori Amos, "Silent All These Years."

First comment: holy fuck it's March. Fuck fuck fuck. Only 18 more days that I can round down. Only 18 more days that I'm permitted to wear miniskirts, according to one of my favorite fashion-makeover shows, "What Not To Wear."

Curses. I love my skirt collection. I was shopping with [Name] the other day, and I couldn't help but fondle all the pencil skirts. They are an addiction for a tall girl who can never buy pants off the rack. [Name] has indicated that I had "better not follow that damn rule!" And, certainly, I won't.

Fuck you, Thirty-Five. Why do you have to be so ridiculous about everything? Tell me my womb is drying up *AND* take away my miniskirts? No. I don't think so.

Anyway. Onto my silence.

Anyone who knows me from way back when rounding my age meant TWENTY, knows that I'm not usually one to keep my mouth shut about things for which I have a well-formulated opinion. This weekend, I was silent about something, and I am waivering between berating myself for not speaking up and being proud of myself for letting something slide.

I either missed out on an opportunity to educate someone about a topic very important to me, or I allowed a not-yet-fully-formed-friendship some room to breathe before I opened my can of whupass.

A person, who I will call "The Uninformed," began telling a story about a friend of his who went to high school with Christina Aguilera. Now, I am not in love with Christina or her music, but I have seen the VH1 "Behind the Music" about her, and as a result, I feel connected to her and supportive of her in a way that other people might not. In fact, I even used one of her songs as my snippet for a blog post about the very thing that Christina and I have in common: we were both bullied as teenagers.

So apparently, The Uninformed's friend has a singular (pathetic) claim to fame: he was the dude who started the Christina Aguilera Smells Like Hot Dogs rumor, such that all you have to do is type "Christina Aguilera smells" into Google, and "like hot dogs" will autopopulate.

What.
A.
Fucking.
Loser.

(The Uniformed's friend will heretofore be referred to as "Waffle.")

The Uninformed's wife even whipped out her iPhone to test the autopopulate theory, and everyone at the table had a good laugh over Ms. Aguilera. The Uninformed recounted how Waffle and his other high school buddies would make sniffing noises when Christina passed them in the halls at school, and say, "Does anyone smell hotdogs?" and the like.

And there I am, sitting at the table, remembering exactly what it felt like to be on the other end of that.

How I would try to hold my head high and pretend I didn't hear the whispers when I walked into the cafeteria.

How I would pretend that I didn't hear the boys chanting "BOOM-bobba-BOOM-bobba" to the rhythm of my steps as I walked down the halls, like the kids do to the really fat kid in the "barfarama" story in the movie "Stand By Me" (even though I was a fairly normal size 10-12 in high school).

How I tried not to burst into tears when a girl in my own "circle" told me to my face that the "whole group would be more popular if you weren't in it."

How it took years of therapy for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder before I didn't have flashbacks to any number of moments of being publicly humiliated by friends, enemies, teachers, and even nuns.

I'm not usually silent on this topic, and I don't know why I held back at that moment. Deep down, I wanted to tell him to grow the fuck up.

Perhaps I want to believe that The Uninformed is just ignorant, and that with time I might be able to share with him my story.

Perhaps I chickened out because I didn't want to seem uncool, even now.

Even at age 34.95.

That's how long bullying stays with you.

I should have said something.

I won't waiver on this anymore.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Fantasy

"Sweet, sweet fantasy baby,
When I close my eyes
You come and you take me.
So deep in my daydreams,
but it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby."

--Mariah Carey, "Fantasy."

Not that I think I have any followers of this blog, but if you've read more than an entry or two, you have noticed that I start each post with song lyrics. Music is a huge part of my life (not just Dave Matthews Band, either), and certain songs take me back to very precise moments in my memory. For example, I remember the very first time my sister and I heard Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" driving home from school one afternoon. We were (of course) listening to X96 Modern Rock on the radio. We were both so taken by the song that Emily pulled the car over to the side of the road (and we can both confirm that it was on Sunnyside Drive, somewhere south of the intersection at Foothill Boulevard) so that we could just... listen.

This Mariah Carey song takes me to a very particular place, as well: the dance floor at Flick's Bar in DC, circa spring 1996. During the period of time I often refer to as "the drunk year," I hung out with a group of girls (The Angel, The Devil, The Lesbian, and The Baby... I was "The Instigator") and we went out and danced and drank a lot. This song was super popular in bars at the time, and if it was playing, we were dancing and bumping up against any number of GW baseball players. I broke some hearts that year.

Anyway.

This particular post has been ruminating for a couple of weeks. Sometimes when I post, it takes me a while to figure out the song that will kick off the entry. This one was a no-brainer. :)

So I'm on the phone with my mom the other day, telling her about recent developments in my relationship. Namely, my boyfriend brought up the topic of... wait for it... wait for it...

Cohabitation.

What a wonderful, sweet, amazing thing. I have felt so comfortable, so content, so happy with this person and this relationship, that I have not felt like I needed to PUSH for signs that things were good or "moving in the same direction." As a result, I get the added treat of being on the receiving end of those questions, and not on the I'm-a-nagging-bitch-girlfriend-prodding-my-boyfriend-to-commit end. It is seriously the best feeling ever to RECEIVE the Facebook notification to "please confirm that you are in a relationship with [Name]" and not the other way around.

So he asked when I thought we should move in together, and I was able to temper my response with the excitement of "NOW! LET'S DO IT NOW!" and the reality of logistics and timing. I gave a response that he thought was reasonable, and I indicated that it was of course negotiable (to shorten--ha!). Phew.

Now, he's asked me to look at real estate and fantasize a little. To daydream about where we will live. Together.

And here's the rub:

Hope sucks.

A well-intentioned but poorly-executed comment from a co-worker yesterday set me off on an all-night crying streak that today leaves me with gross puffy eyes and a gigantic headache that 2 liters of water, a 90-minute workout, 4 Advil, and 2 cups of coffee can't touch.

She noticed the flowers on my desk from Valentine's day, and she said:

"You go girl. Never give up hope."

As if all those wonderful things: love, marriage, family... hell, just living together... are things that have possibly passed me by. Because I am the age that I am (see previous post to do the math), there are people who actually believe that it's not going to happen for me.

And while I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE, what I know about myself is that I've walked down that road in my head before. "Abby The Planner" has looked at condos before.

So... I'm telling my mom about how wonderful and sweet it was to have the man I love *ASK* *ME* when I thought we should move in together (before the end of the summer), and suddenly I realized: I've been protecting myself and managing my fear by completely cutting off my capacity to daydream and fantasize.

I don't doodle my first name with my boyfriend's last name. I don't imagine what I will wear on our wedding day. I don't let myself think about the pattern of syllables and consonents of future children's names (thanks mom, for ingraining your silly rules in me!).

I don't let myself fantasize. I don't let myself daydream or hope. I don't let myself think more than a few weeks into the future.

And what's even AWESOMER (please notice the sarcasm) is that my birthday is just a few weeks into the future--that ridiculous birthday where suddenly EVERYTHING RELATED to these wonderful things that I want to daydream about becomes a VERY BIG DEAL.

And I just don't want to go there.

I'm so HAPPY. I feel like I'm in a wonderful relationship with a person who actually loves me the way I am, and with whom I want to daydream about everything.

And he's asking me to daydream.

And I don't want to be afraid.
------------------------------


Post script:

After discussing the conversation with my coworker with some key people (namely, boyfriend, sister, mother), it became pretty clear that her intentions may not have been good, and that the gigantic smile on my face after the absolutely fabulous Valentine's day made super-special by my wicked-awesome boyfriend might have triggered her jealousy.

I'm willing to accept that possibility, and the fact that I need to get a thicker skin sometimes.

But sometimes it's okay to be a little overly emotional, too.


Tuesday, January 25, 2011

This is Me, This is Who I Am

"I feel no shame, I'm proud of where I came from.
I was born and raised in the boondocks."

--Little Big Town, "Boondocks."

January 25, 2001. 3:45 AM. I woke up in the middle of the night and rolled onto my side. I remember looking at the clock and knowing that there was no way I was going to fall back asleep before my alarm at 6:00 AM. My first ex-husband was asleep next to me. I began to cry. Deep down, I knew he didn't love me, and I would wake up at precisely 3:45 AM in attacks of anxiety for the next 4 months until I finally kicked him out... when I caught him in bed with another woman. But this post isn't about him. It's about me and about what happened to me that night. I remember it like it was... well, ten years ago.

Though it was a long time ago, I clearly remember what I did that night. I felt my stomach. It was soft, fleshy. Fat. It lay next to me on the bed, like it was a completely different entity. I grabbed a whole handful of belly, and I got out of bed.

I weighed myself in the bathroom. 205 pounds.

I went back to bed.

I held my soft, fleshy stomach, and I cried. I sobbed, that silent shaking sob where no sound comes out but your whole chest clenches up and you can neither breathe nor stop. I didn't know how it had happened. I didn't know who I had become. I didn't feel like me. Not that I had any idea who I was at age 24. That night, I vowed to make a change. For me.

I vowed that I would lose 25 pounds by my 25th birthday.

It was totally unreasonable. :)

But, I lost 16 pounds in those 2 months. I dropped 2 clothing sizes, from a 16 to a 12. I started running.

When I had a birthday party for myself, people noticed.

I ran my first 5k that April. The Detroit Komen Race for the Cure.

By the end of May 2001, I had lost 35 pounds. I also lost a 200-pound sack of cheating crap known as my first husband.

It took me another year to lose the last 30 pounds.

And... I haven't seen hide nor hair of them since. (Well, that's not exactly true: anyone who has successfully kept weight off for an extended period of time will tell you that sometimes the scale creeps up. It is in regularly monitoring the situation and never letting more than a certain number of pounds come back that is the key to keeping it off. When I see 150, I get back on the wagon.)

So, no, it hasn't been 10 years at my goal weight. Today, January 25, 2011, I'm at race weight plus 2.5 pounds. (Ha! Wouldn't you like to know!). With my first triathlon of the season 99 days away, I think that's okay. But it has been 10 years.... TEN... YEARS... since the day I made a decision FOR ME.

Happy Anniversary, Abby. You earned this day. You earned the glass of wine you just drank and the Cervelo P3C you are buying tomorrow to continue shredding up triathlon courses. You earned the amazing 7-mile run you ran today... around the Capital (yep, even up Capital Hill), down the mall, around the Tidal Basin, up the steps of the Lincoln, and back to Chinatown.

You earned every finish line. You earned those 26" jeans.

That night ten years ago, you held your belly. What you realized that night is what you have always held, and what every woman, every person inherently holds: the right to make a decision JUST FOR YOURSELF. Congratulations on learning how to exercise that power in the middle of the night ten years ago.

Ten years.

Hot damn.

Go me.



Monday, January 10, 2011

Early

"What time is it?
Four-thirty.
It's not late, no, no.
It's just early."

--The Spin Doctors, "What Time Is It?"

Actually, right now it's 4:23 PM on Monday, January 10, 2011. I have been plowing through work since I arrived at 7 AM, and I just crossed the last item off a long list of things to do.

I'm headed to the gym in 7 minutes, and all I can think to myself is:

HOW THE HELL IS IT JANUARY?????

WHAT DAY IS IT???

WHAT TIME IS IT?

I haven't blogged in a while because I've been so... insanely... busy.

I'm happy this way, of course, but last night I woke up with my head spinning and I had to talk myself out of an anxiety attack. I was successful, but yikes!