I ran on Friday and this is what I thought about while I was the gerbil.
I am of two minds. I feel mentally ill. On one side of my life I should be upset about the things that were said. About me. On the other side of life, that relationship is behind me and the importance of that person is no more. I’m beginning to think I sided with the wrong side when sides were being taken.
I don’t like insecure people. No, I take that back. I don’t like the way insecurity makes people do and say outrageous, mean things. Bragging to be something they’re not. Lying to lay claim to something they don’t have.
But, on the other hand, maybe I’m jealous of them. When I’m less than confident I shirk from importance. Stay in the shadow of someone more superstar. Keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something stupid. I want to be able to say, I got it going on. I know it’s not true. It’s definitely not me. Maybe I would like to brag about something, anything. But, then again…maybe not. Bottom line, I am who I am. Bad mouthed or not.
Run like a girl. It implies a negative. But. I know better. I run like me.
3.6 miles
I’m declaring tonight Time Out Time. I cleared the schedule, cancelled Boston and called in my favors. Tonight it’s time to recharge the batteries. No. That’s not it. I’m not run down or worn out. Okay, maybe I’m a little tired since Dot came to town, but that’s not the half of it. I need me. I miss me. By nature I’m a solitary girl. I like being alone-alone. Me, Myself & Moi all hanging out, talking to ourselves. I want to do the laundry from start to finish. Not a wash here, four hours later a dry there. Folding five days later. And forget about putting it away. I still have piles of laundry sitting on the floor outside my closet – From Monday. I have piles of paperwork, begging to be sorted. I’ve lost track of what bills are due and which my husband quietly paid while I wasn’t paying attention. 
Distracted. I have been too distracted by work and things are starting to fray. Don’t get me wrong – having dinner with friends has been awesome and the catching up was way overdue. Monday night was the bomb because of the bond. Okay, the cheesecake was boss, too. Even on the way home I thought of things to babble. If only my cell phone wasn’t trapped in the pocket blocked by the seatbelt! Wednesday night was all about VentVentVent. Bending the ear of someone who has no clue. Not involved in any way, shape or form. Probably the best way I know to get unbiased help on IM, Podcasting, Second Life, VoIp, Domain names…you name it. Nice to not have to call the director on the carpet, but rather sweep her under the rug. I can’t think about that anymore, either. Like I said, frayed.
I want to whip up a girly mudmask to combat the zip that’s been hanging out on my cheek all week. I want to spend an hour in restorative poses while 
My husband becomes a devil this time of year. His eyes glint with mischief and he can barely contain a smirk as he struts around our apartment. It’s like he drags his feet on purpose, just because he can. It doesn’t hurt him, yet for us girls it’s torture. It’s almost as if he enjoys inflicting this pain on the women in his life. I’m talking about static electricity. My KISA doesn’t need to build up a charge before zapping us. It just happens. He will sit on the couch and distractedly pet the cat. Pat. Snap. I watch as she flinches before contact every single time. Pat. Snap. Pat. Snap. Her ears flatten or a second and I can hear the electric crackle from across the room. It doesn’t hurt her much but it makes me shudder. When it comes time for me to make contact with KISA I practically slug him across the face to defuse the shock. Nine times out of ten it doesn’t work. I get jolted anyway. I’m sure the neighbor can hear me scream…ten houses away. And. He. Laughs. How cruel is that? We are not a violent household, but it sure sounds like it in the winter. I let out yelps of pain so loud I’m just waiting for the day someone calls the cops on us. It’s so bad that I want to ban certain articles of clothing that snap and crackle when removed. I had a sweater that puts on a spectacular light show when taken off in the dark. I gave it Goodwill. Touching metal anything is torture. Getting in and out of my car is hell. File cabinets. Light switches. Door knobs. Desk drawers. Doing laundry – having to peel the nightgown from running pants. I have to resist the urge to OD on dryer sheets.
Today I had an appointment with troublesome, tattletaler T. We had an appointment to talk about a class he wanted me to teach. Serious stuff. Right on time he sauntered over to my desk and started in:
I’m guilty of making a foofaraw about nothing. Well, it’s not exactly n o t h i n g, but who’s keeping score? I spent 40 minutes this morning unloading on my husband on the way into work. By the way, why do these things always happen in the car? I ranted & raved about someone less sane than me, myself & moi (imagine that).
I am way tired of the tractable. I write something, anything. You instantly think it’s about you, you, you. You always think it’s about you. Always. Why? Really, why, why, why? Is your ego just T H A T big? I can’t take it anymore. Really. I am stepping on imaginary toes. It makes me afraid to write honestly because everything is an imprecation on you…or so you think. I can spit them if you want. All day, anyday you want.
We are blurring out senses. We are losing our grip on the details. We chew without tasting. We look without seeing. Patterns rule our lives without even trying. How many times have we been on autopilot? Haven’t we started to drive to work on a day off? I’ve been wearing two different colored contacts and no one has noticed. One honey brown and one clear. Decidedly different orbs. Definitely noticeable. I expected my office-mate to notice. We sit across from each other everyday. Definitely, she’s the type to point these things out. Nothing. After three days my boss, right in the middle of telling me something very important, stopped and apparently lost his train of thought. I thought it was my eyes. I waited for him to say something, say anything. I stared back. He’s commented on my eyeliner before. He’s called me out on less than professional sweats, Simmons across the butt. I waited for the eye comment. It didn’t come. He didn’t notice. He really did lose his train of thought.
We never really know what people think of us until there’s a fly on the wall. A coworker of mine was staying in town for the holidays. Super nerved up because his wife’s family had never met his family, he was looking for distractions, “something different”, something to do that would ease the distress. Think Country family meets City family. He was most worried about Urban brother-in-law. I suggested dinner and a show. Then, for the first time in a while, suggested a band. “They are playing right down the street from you guys. I don’t know if you would care for the music, but your wife would…maybe the taste runs in the family,” is what I said.
The third looking-for-money organization to contact me of the year is the Sierra Club. They started their spiel with, “Dear friend, I write to you today with a disturbing update.” Update? I’ve never belonged to the Sierra Club in my life. Does that make me AntiTreeHugger? Since when do I qualify for an “update”? In my packet of disturbance I was sent an info sheet on the giant sequoia, a bookmark of said sequoia, a bright yellow slip of paper announcing, “Sierra Club named America’s most effective environmental organization”, a two sided sheet of paper boasting the gifts of SC (backpack and subscription), a piece of paper announcing a battle won with a conservation-friendly Congress, two sticker calendars, an 8×14 card stock quality “sign me up form”, a two page hear-our-plea letter, and let us not forget the standard SC decal, the “act now” piece of paper and the envelope to send it all back in. Oh, and the oversized envelope this all arrived in. These people may care about the sequoia but they seem to have forgotten the trees from where their 14 pages of “update” came. Oh well.
~*LunaSea*~ 