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The themes that have dominated my days since my last blog have been many: Running, not running, perseverance in the agony of defeat, trash, poop, opening my eyes to the stories others just pass by, good friends and Independence Day.
RUNNING: I suck at it. I ran the 5k in Huron and came in dead stinking last. Yeah, all the people walking it beat me too. The injured, the lame, the aged, the fat, and the ugly kicked my rather large ass. I went with a friend and I’m sure she finished with me because she felt bad for me. Then I went to the Kelleys Island 5k. Not last!! Took five minutes off my dismal time. Got beat by people who ran a 10k. BUT…I beat the 90 year old guy and the guy with the peg leg. Yeah, the guy with a peg leg had an accident, but the road narrowed there and it totally was not my fault. See the picture with the commentary by the smartass with the sign.
NOT RUNNING: See above. I suck at it. I really do. My body does NOT want to run. My mother tells me “women built like us are not meant to run.” And I can’t completely disagree with her. I am never going to be a runner like others. This is the first thing I’ve ever done in my life where I’m assured to never ever excel at. I’ve fallen off the training regimen time and time again. No real excuses other than the ones in my head.
PERSEVERANCE: Which brings me to the fact that I am stubborn and eventually I am going to run an entire 5k. It’s character building as well as good for me. It’s in my nature to be one of those people who when I figure out something is hard or that I can’t be the best at it, I quit. That’s been my history. I’m pretty proud of myself that I’m not letting that happen here. It might take me 5 years to get to that point, but I still have it in my head that I’ve got to keep trying. No one has ever pushed me to push myself. I’ve never done that struggle. I set my goals, I figure out how to reach them and I go stomping along with a bull-headed single-mindedness without ever thinking maybe I can’t reach that goal. Running is different. I think it’s making me a better person. And in the end, that’s what we all should be doing it trying to become wiser with age.
TRASH: There’s been some observations along the way. First, there’s a lot of trash along the roads. It’s amazing what people will just throw out of their vehicles. You never see it when you’re driving along the road to your next destination; but, when you’re crawling on the asphalt gasping for air it all becomes painfully obvious. The most common piece of trash is definitely beverage containers; plastic water bottles, pop cans, etc. But there are also things you wouldn’t expect. A box of condoms unopened. An iPod. A Brittany Spears CD. Strange garbage bags wrapped in duct tape. A license plate. Two pillows. A tube of toothpaste. People dump the most amazing things.
POOP: Dogs dump too. And responsible owners carry baggies. We don’t like it. We feel like idiots, but we do it. The man who walks his stupid toy poodle down my street is not a responsible owner. He has a that little white puffball on one of those 20 foot retractable leashes. And he doesn’t bother to control the little shit. And I use the word “little shit” on purpose because the other morning, I’m coming out of my house to go to work and there’s that dog (and really are things that small really dogs? I mean aren’t they really just cats that bark?) pooping in the middle of my front yard. The guy who really should turn in any “man card” he might possess for walking a foofoo toy poodle is just standing there watching.
I was nice when I asked him if he had a baggie to pick up the poop. He said he didn’t. I asked him if he intended to return with one. And he said “That would be unreasonable.” It was morning, I don’t do well with mornings anyway so I suppose it’s not “unreasonable” to expect that my internal temper switch would go off at that remark. I replied. “No, unreasonable would be me bringing my 75lb Rottweiler over to your house and letting her go in your front yard. Which I will do if you don’t come back and pick up after yours.”
He didn’t come back.
And that’s how “Poop Wars” began.
That night, Chemlawn had sprayed the lawn. It was a sign. I hitched up my dog and walked her down the street. I stopped , on the sidewalk, letting my dog roam---I have one of those nice retractable leashes as well.
He watched from the window.
I expected the cops. I was going to demand DNA testing.
The cops never came.
It takes ten toy poodle poops to equal 1 rottweiler poop. I think I got this in the baggie.
EYE OPENERS: It’s amazing the things you see when you actually look. I’ve started rewriting my novel after a long bout of writers’ block. I can’t really explain how writer’s block feels to someone who isn’t a writer in their soul. Writer’s block doesn’t mean a person can’t write—at least not to me. I can put out endless non-fiction articles. The technique is still there. It means you can’t create. All the while there’s this pressure building up in your head and you have this craving to get it onto a page, but it doesn’t want to come out. Some argue that Hemingway actually killed himself over it. I can only tell you that I understand why even though I can’t imagine ever pulling the trigger next to my head. How did I beat this horrible affliction? Facebook. I would post a list of “Things I saw today”. Now everyone thinks those things are lies, outright lies. But at least one of those things is very true on every post. I just made up stuff to go with it. It’s a writing exercise for me. However, this town has more than its fair share of weirdness. Some of those things are mostly true. It’s not my habit to post truth on Facebook (and why should you? It’s the fricking internet. It was designed to give liars a forum), but when you’re looking, there’s some really crazy stuff going on.
FRIENDS: Speaking of crazy. I have a great group of friends. They constantly remind me that not everyone in the world is crazy, stupid, and cruel. Sometimes my cold hard heart even thaws a little. They’re all so diverse, but I’m constantly amazed that they accept me for who I am. I think that’s part of my pathology, my insecurity. I never used to have it, but it was festered in me by someone who constantly refused to accept me for who I am. My friends do. They don’t try to change me, they don’t judge me, and they seem to like my company. To be honest, sometimes I think they’re lying about that. But either way, I am grateful for the discussions, the advice, the encouragement, and the perspective that each and every one of them bring to my life. In fact, they’re friends to get tattoos with, friends to just sit with and listen to music, friends to play Scrabble with, friends to have a drink with, friends to insult and get insulted back with. It’s hard to believe that two years ago at this time of year, I had only a few friends who I barely spoke to, I lived in a house that didn’t feel like home and was constantly absorbing the blows of subtle criticism.
INDEPENDENCE DAY: It was two years ago on the Fourth of July that I began to take my life back. In hindsight, that realization that I’d lost who I was and the determination to get myself back is probably what prompted the ex to attempt to tighten his grip on my self-esteem. The tightened grip set me free, because I’d finally reached a point where I could no longer bend without dying.
Two years ago I sat in my living room and looked around at the abstract art on the walls, white floors and black leather furniture, the chrome knickknacks and thought “Where am I in this place? How did I get here? There’s nothing of me in this place. Who am I?” Today I sit in my living room and when I look around I see photographs of nature on the walls—I took some of them and had them blown up and I was never “allowed” to hang them in my old house because they “didn’t fit”—tan carpet that needs to be changed because it’s old and has gotten loose, green animal-proof couch and slate tables with a big dog sleeping on the couch and a fat cat sleeping on the coffee table, and the knickknacks which had been wrapped and stored away have returned—a collection of bad taste bears, a ceramic skull candle holder, a bunch of plants, a Black Forest coocoo clock which was always got stopped because it coocoo’d too loud.
While I do miss certain advantages with men, I find that none of them are worth giving up my independence. I don’t want to deal with someone else’s problems. I don’t want to be criticized for being who I am all while someone hides behind the veil of being “helpful.” I’m not perfect, but I’m me and that’s better than being perfect, it’s better than being someone I’m not. I’m free.
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