Confessional – Page 15

Numbers Don’t Matter

2008/05/142008/05/14 gr4c56 Comments

Last Saturday I spent $30 to walk with a friend around a park. 6.2 miles. Seems kind of odd when you look at it that way, but that’s the way it was. I wasn’t there to run in a race and I didn’t think of it as a charity event, even though it was both of those things. Smiley said she was walking by herself and I said that couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it be and I didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It turned out to be a beautiful day to talk and walk, walk and talk. It was worth $30. Even better than we didn’t come in dead last.
Last night I got on the gerbil’s wheel and wanted to go nowhere. Not really sure what I was doing except giving in to the guilt. I couldn’t remember the last time I ran. As soon as I started to move I knew I was in trouble. Every song irritated me and I felt tired even moving 11.7 mph. This was going to suck was all I kept saying to myself. I don’t know how I know it but I always know a suck run. I recognize it long before it actually gets to me. Know those commercials about the love/hate relationships with running? I was on the other side of love with this run. It sucked.
But, here’s the beautiful thing. Despite wanting to get the fukc off and quit, despite wanting to make a mad dash to the bathroom and puke, despite my ears revolting against every song ipod could spit out, I did not quit. I did not stop. I kicked it up to a 11 mph run and for 40 long minutes I thought about counting up the demons. I determined I have more than one for every day. I listened for subliminal run songs (Rob Thomas, “I’m running but you’re getting away”). I fast forwarded through the likes of Norah Jones, Corrine Bailey Rae, Billie Holiday and Jewel. Rewound Metalica, AC/DC, Def L, Aersosmith, even Led Z. Confronted the pain of a MotherMe lost. In the end it was 3.64 miles. 3.64 miles further than I thought I could go. But, like the numbers of the walk on Saturday, they don’t matter.

Dear Mr. Liar, Fork You

2008/05/13 gr4c55 Comments

Dear Mr. Liar,

I’m finally onto you. I finally figured you out. It took me awhile (stupid me), but I finally got you straight. I don’t know what made you lie in the first place or why you insist on continuing (Yes, you keep doing it) but, so be it. The good news is I can walk away from you and your mouth and the things that come out of it. I’m through with pretending you+me=friends.
What brought this on? I came across a present I meant to give to you. Pretty ribbons, pretty paper, pretty well meaning of me. It was meant for Christmas but I thought it could make a good birthday gift. Except I didn’t know where to send it. “You have vanished. Heaven knows where you live. Heaven only knows.” The numbers didn’t add up. That’s when the lies began. If I wasn’t meant to be that part of your life you could have said so. It wouldn’t have hurt my feelings. I don’t have secrets (ask me no questions I’ll tell you no lies)so I didn’t understand your secrets, your lies. They were stupid until the truth came out. It must be tough to lie lie lie all the time. Really tough. One thing has to cover up something else, right?
You made yourself out to be more important than you really are. What’s the sense of that when you can’t back it up? You said you knew stuff but have yet to prove it. It’s not enough for you to talk. I’m onto you. Take it on the run. Prove it, if you can. Until then, I am out. So out.

The Bottle Has Been

2008/05/12 gr4c56 Comments

We debate the alcohol thing. We go back and forth, forth and back again on what makes one the “ic” of the word. Al-co-hol-ic. Obsessed with the bottle. In love with the devil inside. Is it a drink a day without fail, failing to quit? or is it the excess? Can’t stop until can’t stand up? I wish I knew. I know both kinds.

There’s this woman. She has a drink a night. Like clockwork she opens the bottle. Tells anyone who will listen just how much she “deserves” it after a day like the one she’s had. Let her tell you. She’ll go on and on about the day she’s had. Suggest a night without a drink and she’ll accuse you of not hearing her. Didn’t she just tell you what kind of day she just had? Didn’t she just say she deserved it?
There’s this guy. He drinks once or twice a month. Unlike the steady drinker of just one a night he makes up for lost time and downs doubles until he can’t see straight. Can’t walk a fine line. Can’t remember his own name. Passes out while knocking on a stranger’s door. Six packs become thirty packs which in turn become the icebreaker for 151 and SoCo cold. Wakes up with blood bruised knuckles face down in his own vomit on an unfamiliar street. Doesn’t happen all the time. Just whenever he drinks.

I’ve been listening to Natalie quite a bit and one song that has been tearing me up is “The Living.” I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s about alcoholism – that relationship with the bottle. She took inspiration from knowing someone who had it all, someone who didn’t need anything until the drink came into his life. Then, the drink became his life. As Natalie says, “the bottle’s been to me my closest friend and my worst enemy.” She makes no secret that this person was someone great until he threw it all away for the devil inside.

We debate this thing. Back and forth. What puts the “ic” in alcoholic? When is enough enough?

Spread Too Thin

2008/05/092008/05/09 gr4c53 Comments

Sometimes I think I take on too much. As my husband says, I don’t know no. I cram to the point of gluttony. Once I invited everyone I could think of to hear my favorite music. On the surface it was the attitude of TheMoreTheMerrier, and thinking Exposure is Good. But, underneath it all I wanted to see each and every person. Here’s the problem: I couldn’t spread myself that thin and some people’s time fell short. I don’t know if they got mad at me, but myself did. I could only imagine getting an invitation to hang out only to be hung out and ignored.
I’m trying to learn from my mistakes. While I was in Florida I knew I was thisclose to two other friends. I was so tempted to look them up & book time with them. Just to see them and not have to say I can’t remember the last time I saw you. But, had I done that I would have squandered time with someone else. It’s a matter of becoming less greedy with someone else’s time. Soaking up the value of spending time.
But, what about family? When does it become okay to squeeze in time? To rush from one place to another just to replace Wish You Were Here with Thanks For Coming? I’m having a hard time deciding if less is even worth face value. Especially when they say “whatever you want to do” with a sigh of resignation and a barely contained eye roll.
What about work? When does it become okay to not take on that next big project? To not give something your all because it’s not worth your anything in the first place? I sat across from someone in my office yesterday and went over the same ole, same ole. Could she tell I was defeated? Tired of parroting the purpose? (If I have to explain your job to you what’s the point of you trying to do it?) I came close to putting my head on my desk and asking her to shut off the light and close the door on her way out. I was picturing that perfect reprieve with eyes closed and fight forgotten.
Kisa says I don’t know no so my mantra has become, “Never again, no, never, ever, not on your life…”

Lock & Key or Not Your Puppet

2008/05/07 gr4c56 Comments

There is only so much you can do to protect your heart. I think of you and wonder how far you are willing to go. How much blame you are willing to balance? Take as your own, distribute to others. How fair will you be if you don’t have the facts?
A few weeks ago someone heard me wrong. Well, heard one side of a conversation and filled in the blanks with slightly off-kilter information. What’s worse is that the misconception went uncorrected for all that time because it wasn’t questioned. I would have hated to be in that head space with all that wrongness swirling around. It’s just not right.
Here’s why I say all this. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is wrong when it’s wrong and not three weeks later. I am really good at identifying my heart when I’m faced with feeling it at that moment. Not three weeks later when me, my heart, and moi have moved on. Or forgotten (which is worse).
But, it’s not all you. I’m walking away from some relationships and nudging closer to others. It’s something that I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Certain people deserve more while others have overstayed their welcome. I am not a dullard strung on a wire, waiting for someone to play me. I am no Happy Puppet, waiting for your command. Occasionally, I need to change the locks and get a new key. Let’s just say it’s long overdue.
So, back to you. I’m glad Jessica Simpson isn’t joining us for dinner. Sorry I set a place for her. Thank you for speaking up and not lashing out. My only request is do it sooner, while the conversation is still breathing and has life. No one wants to rehash DOA unless they really have to.

Glad You Think It’s So Funny

2008/05/032008/05/03 gr4c54 Comments

I had another one of those failed restaurant meet-ups a few weeks ago. I was supposed to meet someone for dinner. He thought 7:30pm. I thought 5:30pm. I sat there wondering if he was waiting outside while I was inside doing the exact same thing. Toying with my wine glass, fiddling with the silverware, smoothing the tablecloth with my fingertips, reading the menu until I had it memorized, staring at the artwork on the walls. I’m sure the waiters thought I either had a kidney problem or I was having an affair as they filled my water glass for the eighth time. My friend never came. Until 7:30pm

This week we were able to connect and I’m almost wishing we hadn’t. Before me sat a BBQ burger with BrianFries and crunchy pickles. I was ready to dig in. Before I could take a single bite my friend eyed me and asked the WhatsNewQ. I knew I should have started eating first. After I told him my latest he threw his head back and laughed. Laughed and laughed. Laughed so loud other diners turned with curious looks. Laughed and laughed until he was crying. When he was finally finished and had swallowed the last chuckle he managed to ask, “how in God’s name do you get yourself into these messes?” A tear hung in the corner of his eye and a giggle escaped. I could feel another bout of uncontrolable laughter coming my way. Through gritted teeth I admitted I had no idea. And added it wasn’t funny. Burger aside I had to explain. Or at least try to. My life is one big soap opera minus the orphaned surgeon who never knew he was sleeping with his sister and actually died 3 episodes ago but still managed to seduce the bull fighter’s CIA wife in Africa last week. When I said I was done with drama I should have said I’d like to be done with drama. I’m dreaming if I think I can ever fully escape it.
I never did finish the burger…or even touch the fries.

Boy Bomb

2008/05/022008/05/02 gr4c510 Comments

I’ve got this guy close to my heart. I think he reads me but then again, I’m not really sure. Maybe not. He’s a road warrior. Hardcore. If he does read me, that’s cool because I want to thank him for being so freakin’ cool. Okay. That was cryptic. I DO mean “read me” on a couple of levels. One maybe more than another.
Yeah. I can hear some of you now. Yes, I’m a married woman. So be it. But, I have this friend. I’ll call him Joe. We’ve had 22 years of something. Friends, lovers, roommates, coworkers, enemies, siblings, classmates, partners, pen pals. I’ve read to him. He’s drawn me. Been there. Done that. I think we have been just about everything to each other at one time or another. I guess I could say we have ultimately ended up where we started. Full circle friends. Only this time he’s not hiding more than several cans of beer in a multi-pocketed jean jacket and I’m not climbing out back windows at 3am. Friends of another era. Kisa’s cool with that. I’m cool with that. It’s not that complicated. It’s cool because I’ve grown to hate complicated.

I go through stages where I miss the snot out of Joe. Then, he’ll call. As if he knows. He gets me laughing. Gets me crying. I want to tell him everything crazy, but his phone crackles and we lose connection. He’ll call back but only to say see ya. Next time. Later, baby. On the road again. And again. My favorite question is not Can you hear me now, but Where are you now? He just laughs. My brilliant boy bomb.

Here’s what I meant to say to him: Boompa: thanks for Arizona. If I could get the darn pic off my phone I’d post it here. I’ll think dream about Zion. I’ve always trusted your travel sense. Congrats on the camp. It’s where you belong. You’re good at everything Weld and you know it. I’ve got issues but we’ll talk about those another time….when you’re within calling range. You know you owe me, myself & moi lunch.

Oh, and one more thing, don’t pick on the girls too much. We bite. Really.

Most Ridiculous

2008/04/282008/04/28 gr4c513 Comments

I’m calling the Darfur run “most ridiculous” for several reason. Where do I begin? First no sleep the night before. Tossed and turned in an unfamiliar bed, listened to drunks outside the window at 2am, worried about cracking my head on the nightstand, missed kisa…

The next morning checking in was odd. Confused by the box of cookies for sure….

But, here’s where it gets really ridiculous. Initially I was scared to run. I won’t lie. I wasn’t feeling up to it. A friend hadn’t shown, I kept thinking about the last time I tried to run anywhere (and failed), and I was dead tired. Suddenly, everything didn’t seem important enough. I didn’t feel important at all.
Then, the race began. Uphill. Within a few minutes I lost focus on the race and lost myself in a cemetery of souls. I will say this a million times to anyone who will listen. This was the most beautiful race of my life. From just a few minutes into it, I forgot I was running. The course was beyond spiritual. Beyond gorgeous. Beyond meaning. If I wasn’t staring at graves or flowers or water I was gazing up at some of the oldest trees I have ever seen. We went up crazy, slippery, gravel hills but I didn’t see them. We went down crazy pounding hills but I didn’t feel them. Instead, I craned my neck to read tombstones, did the math on who died when. How old? At times I would turn around and run sideways, even backwards to look one last time at someones angel in stone. From Amalia on I was lost in names. My husband’s secret track was all drums and I started to cry. Darfur’s genocide, the friend that didn’t show, these graves, and the trees that seem to live forever. The impact of everything finally overtook me.
Towards the end of the race a man yelled to me, “sprint it, baby!” and suddenly I was brought back to the race. Back to reality. Sprint it? What do you mean, ‘sprint it’? Where am I? How much more of the course is there? I honestly had no idea how far I had come or what was left. Suddenly I recognized the pavilion where we checked in, the gazebo right before the finish line, the flags for the end. I remembered I was in a race and the urge to really run kicked it (it meaning me…in the azz 🙂 ). I sprinted the last 30 seconds.

27:49. I’m irritated with myself. This is my best time ever, but I didn’t even try. I can tell. No red face. No coughing uncontrollably. No cramps. As far as running goes I didn’t give anything. I was too busy gawking at people’s final resting places. I was too busy communicating with trees. I was too busy remembering the dead. Darfur’s dead.
To Darfur, I gave everything.

Everything is Wrong

2008/04/232008/04/23 gr4c59 Comments

moo cow

I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to misplace focus, to break a promise. I got on the tread last night, intending to do a quiet 35 minute tune-up session. Everything was wrong. Wrong from the very start. Everything. First of all, you and your Saturday night phone call. I know in my heart of hearts you are right. Three and a half hours of heart to heart and yes, you are right. I know what I need to do, thanks to you. But. But, but I don’t like it. I don’t deserve this. Yeah, yeah, yeah – Harry met Sally and the moral of the story is they couldn’t be friends. I hear ya. I still don’t like it. Last night I went beyond ThatSpace and deleted the phone number. Removing temptation. Cutting things off before they can cut me. I can’t bleed anymore. You are right.
Anyway. So, I thought of you and your words before I ran and they didn’t make me angry. I didn’t find the fire. Instead, they made me sad. I can’t run blue. So, the mood was wrong, the music was wrong, everything was wrong. For the first time ever I skipped Paint It Black and Have Fun Go Mad. I couldn’t find a rhythm I liked. Thanks to a friend I found Fleetwood and tried that. After 25 minutes I admitted defeat and decided nothing would help. I stopped cold. I couldn’t even rock the Aerosmith shirt I bought while shopping with RT. I couldn’t rock anything beyond 2.26 miles.

I’ve never stopped a run before. Not like that – not stopped cold. I’ve had plenty of other I Don’t Feel Like It moments. But, in every other instance of tired I struck a deal with myself and moi – run slower but don’t quit. Lower the incline to nothing, but don’t quit. Don’t you dare quit.

When I got off the tread and paced in front of my husband he was quick to offer kindness. Not your night. You just cooked a huge meal. You are tired. Work is tressing you out. I heard excuse after excuse and headed for the fridge. Chocolate Moo Cow for this quitter.
Maybe another glass of whine…from a box.

Forgive Me

2008/04/17 gr4c513 Comments

I have been hiding behind book reviews and poetry for days on end. Two poems for every one book. Reading like a fiend seems to suit me. Sorry.
I’ve started to tell you about the weirdest things ~ Kisa murdering the ladybugs in the bathroom, the end of N&ZY, my heartbreak over a breakup, the amazing work I’ve done with MSR, the crap I’ve been handed at AIC, how homesick I am, how little I’ve run, the need to hear my music again (go where we haven’t I don’t dare), Natalie, Germany, Sin City, Taka Tak, being stood up, being letdown, sex in my city, Comic Book Tattoo, Darfur, Boston Celtics, wine, angry black man, gun to my heart, arthritis and friends too far away.

I’ve started to tell you about all these things. Yet, I can’t. Instead I tell you about what I’ve read and read and read.
Forgive me.

Kermit is My CoPilot

2008/04/13 gr4c58 Comments

Sometimes I think I appreciate my friends more than I tell them. I love them more I let on. That I know. Today I went shopping with such a friend. She’s the one who loads my arms up with the “try this on” stuff because, as she puts it, “it just might work.” She’s right about most everything. I never did tell her that the fur coat pinched my pits, but she’s right – it was funky. I could have spent all afternoon trying on the suggestions of a friend. I didn’t have one fat moment.
I tell you this because she convinced me I needed Kermit. Kermit, Aerosmith and a sexy dress with sunset colors. But, the bigger news is later that day I ran with Kermit. 5.34 miles in an hour. Yup. One freaking hour. I ran to random and found myself laughing at the more ridiculous moments of the week. One hour is a long time to think about sh!t on a treadmill, especially when you settle in and run at the same pace. With Kermit’s help I came to several conclusions. The best being this: My friend is right. No one, I repeat, no one tells me how to conduct my marriage. No one tells me what is or isn’t appropriate. I’ll let my husband be the judge of what he would or wouldn’t appreciate. I was stupid to be upset. I was stupid to care what someone else thought. Especially that kind of someone.

So, to my friend. Thank you for kicking my mental butt.

14 days until Darfur.

Run Not Done

2008/04/10 gr4c57 Comments

I could kiss my kisa for being so so so there. I was driving us home and without warning I blurted out how hurt my heart was. Broken, I said. He was patient, logical…comforting…as best as he could be. He offered advice I couldn’t take. “Call” he said simply. No. NoWayNoHow I countered. I can’t. I want to disappear. Really truly. Remove myself as if I never happened. Ever. I’m doing that slowly, carefully, despite Kisa’s “don’t do that.” I can’t help it. Can’t. Help. Despite being angry I am caught. Confused. Embarrassed.
So, I ran. For the first time this week. I know, I know. It’s Thursday. When you have two jobs and a need to catch up it’s hard to catch the run. It becomes less important. Sadly. So, tonight while dinner was cooking, I got on the tread…as an abbreviated 20 minute run – intervals. 12 minute mile (slow end) 6 minute mile (faster side). I found myself sobbing during the pounding parts. Everything hurt. Rob Thomas tells me there’s no getting back to good. Great. My “cool down” was 10 minute mile and it felt ridiculously slow despite not being able to breathe. This run is simply not done.

Dear You: I heard your music and could only think of swamps and being stuck. Damn him and his mind change! Hang in there.

17 days until Darfur.

Break Down

2008/04/082008/04/08 gr4c53 Comments

“post traumatic stress disorder”
“post traumatic stress syndrome”
“post trauma break”
“psychotic break”

My psych friend came back to visit me today, and after my latest rant, threw these words back at me. Dropped them in my lap and dared me to deal with them.
“Break down.” She added and smiled with sympathy (or was that empathy?).
“You need to clear the clutter.”
Is that anything like deleting friends?…Because that was my first impulse. I could just dump these words in the garbage and move on. It’s what I do.
She laughed. “Only if you want to. No, it just means stepping back from the psycho mess and surrounding yourself with something less superficial.”
Ahhh… like calling MI back. Scheduling that lunch date with AB. Meeting SB at the gym. Sharing a glass of wine with RB. Picking a good time to talktalktalk to Germany. Celebrating AS’s birthday. Finding time to go shopping (or something) with RT. Finally watching that 3 hour movie with my husband…
My psych friend leans forward eagerly and says “Do more!” like some overzealous cheerleader hopped up on too much coffee. She was looking way too thrilled with me. Way too happy. You mean like run five miles-bake some bread-sleep in child’s pose-finish five books-knit a sweater-feed the hungry-adopt a dog-world peace kind of thing? Was this a test on how well I could treat myself and moi? Inner peace and all that good stuff? Nope. Now my psych friend was looking smug. She could finally teach me something.
“Clear your calendar. Wave bye-bye to obligations and promises.” Of course. Of course! It’s spring and its arrival has made me think about the studio. How to get back in it. How to create a better masterpiece. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t have to. It wasn’t for me so why should I? All those conversations about when vanished and became Not now. Never. I could look at every promise like that and break them all.

When my psych friend got up to leave my office she paused at the door. “You know, breaking down isn’t a bad thing…just as long as you can build back up. Go call Germany.” And with a wink she was gone.

Mr. Dillon

2008/04/07 gr4c52 Comments

I don’t remember the commercial. It may be just in my head because I can’t even remember the product. All I remember is someone (in a really annoying voice) telling Mr Dillon to “loosen up” because he was on a cruise. I have that voice in my head, right now. Telling me to loosen up. Laugh a little. Let Go a little. Live a little more. But, this picture is the epitome of exciting for me.

Last night kisa was glued to the computer, a funny little smirk on his face as he enthusiastically typed away. “Listen to this,” he throws back over his shoulder to me, “we could take a five hour white water rafting trip followed by lunch in the canyon…only $350 per person.” “Oh.” His face fell. “A seven hour bus trip back…” No thanks. “Ooh!” He was at it again. His face all lit up. “Here’s one: a helicopter ride, followed by four-wheeling safari jeep ride, hike for lunch in the canyon.. (I guess lunch in the canyon is mandatory). Lemme guess. Next, we bungy down to a wild boar farm where we rope an emu for the ride home. Why doesn’t any of these adventure thingies sound exciting to me? Maybe it’s because I picture clumsy moi coming home in a body bag? Maybe it’s because I fear my husband will learn just how afraid of man-made heights I really am? “Uh-huh.” I grunted back, head buried in a book. I only looked like I was reading. Instead, I was trying not to picture a helicopter careening off canyon walls, an open jeep doing somersaults down a ravine. Our bodies looking like rag dolls being flung about. I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. It’s a long way down. Our screams will last forever and echo for eternity.
So, this is where I need to suck it up. I’m only scared because I’m silly with imagination. If I’ve never done something before I can’t think straight and I think the worst. But. But, But~! If I think about it long enough maybe flying in a bubble sounds like fun. Right? Riiight. I may not be Mr. Dillon and I may not be going on a cruise, but I do need to loosen up!

Conversations of the Painful Kind

2008/04/06 gr4c5Leave a comment

I had a serious talk with my knees, ankles and hips today. I know some people talk to their cats, their Kenmores, and their shadows. Me, I talk to body parts; my body parts, interviewing each one, scrutinizing their replies. I can’t help but be suspicious. How are we feeling today? Are we ready to rock it? I listen carefully. Friday, my hip screamed at me, bared it’s teeth and threatened to bite. Didn’t like the stairs, I guess. Today, a much more subdued response came through, “I’m okay.” Good. Good. Knees and ankles replied in kind. Great. Except. Right foot spoke up just a little. Right where the stress fractures appeared nearly two years ago. Was that a growl? What now? Maybe it’s just a little tight.
I’m a situational runner. I run best when I’m angry, when there is something I need to work out. When the mind is on overload. Running in the gerbil cage forces me to stay focused. If the dryer is loud enough I run in time to the load’s cycle spinning. If the run is long enough I zone out, think of nothing but where this would take me if I was homehome. Would I be in the Cathedral woods or out on the cliffs? Would I be down by the wreck or beyond? More often than not I talk to my legs, asking them for another mile. I barter with my knees, promising a crazy good bag of frozen peas and maybe a steamy bath afterwards…if we get through it. The only one I can’t talk to is my heart. Stubborn and silent it stays. Maybe that’s a good thing. Because despite the silent treatment we usually work it out.