I never said I was a patient person.

Ok, this recovery thing is bullshit. I’m just going to put that out there.  Bullshit.

I went back to running.  The doctor said to ease into running.  Like walk some, run some, walk more than you run, use a treadmill to be safer.

So I started the Couch to 10K program.

At week four.

Which, in case you were wondering, happens to fit the criteria of walking some/running some, and walking more than running.  It just also happens to last 62 minutes and have 11 intervals of running.

My knee swelled up like a balloon.  And made crunchy/poppy noises.

Oops.

I know I said I had lost my need to be competitive.

That was a lie.  Only, to be fair, I didn’t realize it was a lie at the time.  I really thought I’d had a personal growth moment.

It turns out it’s a lot easier to be all personally grown and mature when you’re not actually being tested with things that make your competitive crazy switch flip into overdrive.  Who knew.

See, here’s what happened.  Some of us at work committed to do the Reno-Tahoe Odyssey.  There are those of us on the team who already are runners, and a few who aren’t.  One of my co-workers is starting from scratch and I suggested the Couch to 5K program for her.  She went online and found the Couch to 10K and, thinking more is always better, she got started.  Yay!  Right?

Except she got started before I was released to run and the whole time she’s been training the devil in my head is screaming SHE’S GETTING AHEAD OF YOU!!

Which is why it seemed perfectly rational that starting at week 4 of the C210K wouldn’t be a bad idea.  I am, after all, an experienced runner.  Who had knee surgery six weeks ago.

And you want to know the bad part?  The this is where I might need therapy part?

Even after my body’s response to doing stupid shit kicked in and gave me pain so I wouldn’t forget next time, I am having a really hard time backing off the training BECAUSE SHE’S GOING TO GET AHEAD OF ME.

I don’t think you understand the level of crazy here.

Never mind that she wasn’t a runner before so she doesn’t have old injuries and new injuries to deal with.

Never mind that she’s cough10cough years younger than I am.

None of that matters.  Running is my thing.  It’s what I love.  I can accept that there are people who are a lot better at it than I am.  My husband can run uphill for days with a 50 lb weight vest strapped to his chest while eating a sandwich and I accepted that.  Ok, I accepted it as long as he never runs with me again, but I accepted it.

I don’t know where this need to compete comes from but I appear to be completely incapable of accepting my limitations and taking it easy.  Does it matter in the grand scheme of things if she ends up finishing a 10K before me?  No.

It doesn’t.

It really doesn’t.

But don’t talk to me about her doing it faster than me.  We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

***************************************************************************************

Pee Ess: Tonight I backed way off, all the way back to the Couch to 5K program, and while it wasn’t perfect it was better. I’m really not crazy or self-destructive, so please don’t think I’m going to be reckless just because I’m impatient.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself it’s that I don’t learn new tricks very well.

My recent knee surgery is a perfect example of that. I had surgery on my right knee, but my dominant leg is my left. You would think that would be perfect, right? Except that when I go to get dressed, no matter how many times I tell myself to put my right leg in first because I can put the pants on the floor and not have to lift my leg very high, I always always stick my left leg in first. Then I’m standing there with my pants halfway up, unable to bend my knee enough to get my right leg high enough and I have to start over. Every. Single. Time.

I’m having the same issue with this new (or new to me) period spacing rule. Frankly, I don’t like it. I understand the reasoning behind it – we’re not back in the typewriter dark ages anymore and fonts are not static widths – but I think it looks sloppy and smooshed together. I’m old and I think sentences look better when they are separated by two spaces instead of one.

Also I’m tired of backspacing after every single period to take out the extra space because I cannot seem to re-train myself to use only one space after a period.

And honestly? I don’t see what it matters. I see people get really upset about it on Twitter, and I have a hard time figuring out why it’s so important. I’m not a journalist, and no one has to fit my writing into a fixed-width column. No one edits my writing at all, as evidenced by my love for starting a sentence with the word “and”, so why is this so upsetting?

I’m the first person to twitch when I see grammatical mistakes like misuse of their, there, and they’re or affect versus effect because it interrupts the flow of reading for me. But an extra space after a period doesn’t seem to interrupt reading flow. Plus I have to tell you, the older I get the more I have the CRS (can’t remember shit) and interrupting my thought flow to go back and take out a space sometimes makes the words leave my head entirely.

So I am respectfully asking all of you people who are smarter than me: why? Is there a real purpose for this in everyday writing? Does it really bug you? Don’t you think this post would look a lot better with just one more space after the periods?

Hey, hey

you, you

I don’t like your boyfriend.

When I care about the people in my life, I can’t be selective about the issues I’m going to care about.  I care about everything that happens to you, and when people are mean to you it’s really hard for me to look at them the same ever again.

We listen to the things our friends and family tell us and, because we love them, we hurt inside for the pain they are going through.  We offer solace and encouragement and “you don’t deserve that” (because you DON’T) and we feel genuine pain over the suffering you have experienced.  Sometimes it’s just normal couples stuff that everyone goes through and you can commiserate because you’ve been there too, and everything is going to work out and be fine and dandy again.

Sometimes, even though it may seem like a huge thing, it’s something you can work though between yourselves and move past and make an effort to resolve so that both of you are happy, and in those cases I’m happy for you.  Everyone has conflict; no relationship and no person is perfect.  I know that and I can accept that.

But sometimes it’s not.

So you can imagine how awkward it might be to be on the other end of that conversation when yesterday you were devastated and crying and today you’re sucking it up and everything is fine dammit.  And by the way, boyfriend wants to hang out.

Because here’s the thing:  you have that L-word thing going for you.  That thing that makes everything this person does all pink and sparkly and smell like cupcakes.  You can go through these cataclysmic events and come out the other side full of optimism that it isn’t going to happen again, and it was all your fault anyway, and if you were just smarter these things wouldn’t happen at all because hello…love.

I don’t have that.  For me this person still smells like a shit sandwich.  I can’t make that same shift in perspective that you can because I don’t have the love goggles on.  I remember the things you told me and I remember how hurt you were, so I have a really hard time looking them in the eye and acting like everything is fine and they’re awesome, and boy you are lucky to have them!  I just really can’t fake it – believe me, I’ve tried. I am a horrible liar and it shows all over my face anyway.  I think this might make me a bad person, or at least it’s a character flaw that I can’t let it go and forget, and maybe it’s none of my business to get upset on your behalf at all.

But I do and I am.  Because I love you.

And I know it bothers you, and I’m sorry for that.

And I’m trying.

Over the past few years I’ve done a lot of work in the personal growth department. I saw some character traits in myself that I wasn’t overjoyed to have to own up to, so I worked at change. It wasn’t easy, but then real change rarely is. Over time I’ve noticed a difference and I’ve been happy with how it has been working out so far.

One of the things I’ve worked hard at erradicating from my thoughts is envy. It serves no productive purpose and it fosters dissatisfaction with my life. It doesn’t motivate me to do things differently, it just makes me unhappy at what I may consider unfair. Envy is pretty much the opposite of everything I need to do to enjoy my current life path and to be a good friend and partner to those around me.

So far I have been really successful, and it has gone a long way in upping my happiness quotient. When the people I love tell me about great things that happen to them, my first thought is never “I wish that had happened to me.” I am geninely happy for them. I can go visit your beautiful new 4,000 square foot house and be so happy for you, and at the same time be perfectly happy to go home to my small house that’s only halfway remodeled. It doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t care about popularity or numbers of followers or what kind of car you drive. I really don’t.

Except for this one thing. I’m wrestling the green-eyed monster over one little thing and it’s pissing me right off. I’m pissed that I can’t get over it and just be happy for my friend. It doesn’t really matter what I’m jealous about, the fact that I’m jealous at all is what has me kicking my own ass around the block.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy that this good thing has happened for my friend. It’s awesomely super fantastic in it’s awesomeness. But I want it for myself too. I am having a hard time with accepting, with this one little thing, that things are different for me and maybe it’s even ultimately all my own fault that they are.

And there’s the rub. It’s ultimately my own fault that it’s different for me. I have put myself in this situation, and maybe instead of being jealous I’m really just angry at myself.

Obviously I still have work to do in that department. Maybe I always will. But at least I can see how self-destructive this emotion is, and I’m working at changing it. I’m going to count that as a win.

I am this close to deleting my Facebook account.  At first the apps just drove me mildly insane, but then I figured out how to block the gabillionty updates that appeared in my news feed and I thought all was good.

Except that there are always new apps.  It’s like playing Whack-A-Mole with the app blocking, and that drives me slightly insane too.  But I could live with it.

Until this morning.  I’ve been seeing all of these “friendly quiz” updates all over my feed, where people answer a question about their friends.  There are about 4 different apps that I’ve seen so far that do this same thing.  It works under the premise of how well do you know your friends and how well do your friends know you?

When you click on the app you get to see the questions people answered about you, but you don’t get to see who answered until you answer a shitpot of questions about your friends, which is how they perpetuate this bullshit.  Human nature is to want to know what people have to say about you and they are banking on the fact that you can’t resist knowing what’s hidden in the box and you will play along to find out.

It all seemed pretty harmless until I looked at the questions.  Most of them are totally innocuous, like Is Lisa geeky? and Do you think Lisa knows how to drive a stick shift?

And then I got to this one: Do you think Lisa makes more than $50K a year?

Hey there, ho there, back up the information superhighway!  This is information I’m not going to give out willy-nilly on Facebook.  I presume this app assumes that my friends know me well enough to answer this question correctly, so here’s my question.

What is the purpose of the information these apps are gathering?  It seems like nothing more than a cleverly disguised data miner to me.

Am I crazy in thinking that this is not ok?  Whether it’s just to target their sidebar ads more effectively, or some other more sinister reason, I am just not down with this kind of monkeyshine.  I can block this app from my feed and from gathering my information from my feed, but if I block the app does that mean it has to stop asking questions about me?  Or does that just mean that I won’t see the questions it asks about me anymore while it goes along its merry way sticking its nose all up in my hoobastank?  Because I’ve noticed that this app asks questions about everyone, even people I know are on top of their Facebook privacy game.

It’s all fun and Facebook games until someone loses an eye.  In my case, 99% of the people on my Facebook account don’t know me well enough to answer these questions correctly but that’s kind of beside the point.

What do you think?  Am I totally over-reacting?  Has paranoia finally destroyed me?  Is it possible to completely block these apps from even asking about you?  Does it even matter?  I have an itchy trigger finger poised over the “delete account” button, and inquiring minds want to know.

Lately it seems like the Universe is amusing itself by seeing how far it can push me until my head explodes into a million tiny bits.  It appears that when you decide to pursue a path of acceptance and peace, the universe says “Oh, yeah?  Wait til you get a load of THIS!”

Then the Universe throws a ball of poo at you.

Maybe not actual poo, but it still stinks just the same.

And you say, “Ok, Universe.  I got your pooball, and I’m just going to put it over here in the toidy for you.  I know that’s where you meant to put it, instead of on me, and I’m going to help you out.”

So then the Universe rings your doorbell, but when you open the door no one is there.  Except that you smell something and you look down and this time the universe has left a flaming bag of poo on your doorstep.

And you shake your head and say “Oh that Universe is such a silly prankster.  What are we going to do with him?”  And you get out the fire extinguisher from behind the wood stove, where maybe it’s not such a good idea to store it, and you put out the flaming poo bag because at least you were smart enough not to stomp on it.

And then you go sit down and listen to the plinky-plinky music while sipping your hot cocoa and you hear this noise.  beep…beep…beep……beep…beep…beep

And you look out your window and that silly, prankster Universe is backing up a dump truck full of poo, and proceeding to dump it in your front yard.

And all of your friends and neighbors come by and shake their heads and wrinkle their noses and say, “Wow, that’s a great big pile of poo.”  And you say, “Why yes, Captain Obvious.  Yes it is a big pile of poo.  Thank you for admiring my poo because it is a mighty poo.”

And everyone leaves except your bestest friend in the whole wide world, the one who would never leave you alone with the poo, and you stand in the yard and try to figure out what you’re going to do with this much poo.

And you hope that the Universe will be distracted by watching you shovel the poo into wheelbarrows enough that he won’t want to bring more.  Because you think that next time he might bring a trebuchet, or maybe a canon, or some other creative poo-delivery device, and you might just have enough poo already, thank you very much.

There are times when I’m exceedingly arrogant about being able to do things.  I’m usually pretty confident that I can figure out just about anything, as long as I set my mind to it.  Sometimes that works out for me.

This weekend?  I got my cocky butt kicked by some copper tubing and a torch.  It seems I needed a little ego smackdown because the universe delivered one right to my door.

I’m working on a cake project.  What does copper tubing and torches have to do with cakery, you ask?  Why everything!   I’m making a framework for some cake badassery that’s only going to be badass if it actually works out.  That’s the fun part, in case you think I’m a little bent.  The not knowing if it’s going to turn out right.  It’s either going to be the shiznit or it’s going down in a burning ring of fire.  There is no middle ground.

See, this is where I get myself in trouble every time.  I see something in my head and automatically assume I’m going to be able to make it happen in 3D.  Because clearly it should just jump right out of my head and onto a cake, and I should be able to do it all by myself because I’m just awesome like that.  *cough* Right?

I always forget that the cakes that included sneaky behind the scenes craftodynamics were the cakes that were a result of teamwork.

Case in point:

This one wouldn’t have happened without hubs’ mad skillz.  He made the framework for this cake for me and without his help it would have been just another flat fish on a board.

I have an independent streak about a mile and a half wide.  I don’t like to ask for help.  Maybe it’s because I was an only child for 9 years.  Maybe I’m just a control freak.  It just bugs the crap out of me to have to ask for help on projects that I can clearly envision in my head, and think that being able to see it means being able to make it happen.

Ego much?  My issues are many and varied.

Hubs isn’t here right now to help me.  See what I get for doing that happy hubcation dance?  Universal smackdown via solder and flux.  Now I have to wait until Tuesday for him to help me, which puts my schedule so far behind that I’m going to be in some serious weeds if my plan doesn’t come together all A-Team fashion, especially since I don’t have a Plan B.

Lessons learned?

1. Quit with the Lone Ranger act.  I can’t do everything and I’m really kind of dumb for thinking I can.  I’m not a two year old stomping my feet screaming I do it myself!!
2. Appreciate the skills that other people have.  I tend to take some things for granted instead of respecting the time it took to learn and perfect those things that other people can do.  Especially those things that I can’t do.
3. Alone time is great and not to be undervalued, but teamwork is what makes the world go round.

Hubs is coming back Monday night.  After I smooch him all over he’s going to look at this hot mess I’ve made and shake his head and tell me where I went wrong.  Then he’ll probably pull out the whooopppppppaaahhhh!! and things will magically come together.

Because he’s awesome like that.

My brain is in a weird place lately. I’m not sure where that is, maybe Cleveland or something. Not that Cleveland is weird, I’ve just never been there so it would be weird for my brain to be there.  Without me.

See what I mean?

I thought that my week off would be the perfect time to do some reading and writing, relax and re-order things. It turns out, not so much.

Aside from all the running around I did when I was supposed to be recuperating with my foot higher than my heart, I just didn’t have it in me.   It turns out that it takes a lot more brain power to do those things than I thought, and than I had left.

Lately, I don’t want to do much of anything that involves brain power.  Why is that?

Is it that my beloved summer heat cooked my brain while I was sweltering on the couch wearing the sauna boot?  That would be a crime against nature because I love me some hot summer days.   To the point that I don’t have air conditioning in my house, which I definitely do not recommend if you have to wear a sauna boot.  In July.  During a heat wave.

Did the drugs trade my yay for meh? I was feeling pretty good during the before stage of this game.   The after stage is leaving a little to be desired.  Maybe I should blame it on the fact that they didn’t give me any drugs that actually made me feel even a little high.  I was sort of looking forward to that because I think that if you have to have your foot all ganked into das boot and with the stitches and everything, you should get to be high. It’s about balance; yin and yang. The universal consolation prize.

Maybe instead of working on my baby toe bone, the doctor took out my funny bone. Because not only have I lost my words, I have lost the funneh. And that is a problem for me.

Maybe I’m just going through a low, I don’t know, but I feel all jangoed up and I don’t like it.  No sir, I don’t like it.   I don’t like having nothing else to write about other than the fact that I feel meh and don’t know what to do about it.  Who wants to read that?   Don’t answer that. I don’t think my self-esteem can take it right now.

Part of the meh comes from the fact that I just don’t feel good. The drugs messed with my stomach, and the boot has jacked up my back, and I’m not sleeping well at all.  It’s hard to roll over when you have to concentrate on not clocking the dog in the head with the boot and also actually finding a position that doesn’t make your back clench up like Thurston Howell III’s ass at the same time.

Have I mentioned that I hate whining? And whiners? And yet here I am writing one giant whinefest of a post? And how much I hate that this is all I can come up with right now? And yet, here I am with the blah blibbity blah blah blaaaaaahhhhhhh. Emphasis on the blah.

Feel free to slap me.  I know I would.

Stoner’s Law of Chap Dynamics, as explained by Lisa Stoner*.

The level of any given item on my Give-a-Shit-O-Meter is inversely proportional to the amount of ass chap caused by that item.

Pick a meth fight with me over something and you can guarantee that from that moment on I couldn’t care less about that thing ever again.  That goes for people too.  I’m bitchy like that.

Case in point: the baby blanket.

*yes, that’s really my name.  Unless you can come up with one that I haven’t heard it’s best we keep our comments about that to ourselves when I’m in this mood.

My dearest friend, who knows me oh so well,  tells me that when I have a lot on my mind I go into my cave.  I say takes one to know one!  Because I’m twelve.

But I digress.

She’s right, and I’m probably caving it up pretty good right now because I don’t feel much like talking, or writing, or Twittering, or Facebook updating, or emailing.  My social butterfly is in its cocoon phase, laying dormant and waiting for…something.

I don’t know why I feel this way right now, except that I’m running low on emotional energy.  Maybe this is my power-saver mode while the batteries recharge.  I can be somewhat social and polite and a functional member of society while just barely scratching the surface, and that’s ok.

I don’t need anymore ripples in my pond right now.

Besides, do you know how long it took me to get my cave decorated like this?  Rome wasn’t built in a day, baby.