What I Keep Talking About

Breakaway turned 30 yesterday and I had the privilege of being among those included in the tribute video.  I was freaking the hell out in the store while it was playing because the thought of seeing myself on screen was horrifying.  But now that I've been able to watch it from the comfort of my own computer (and thus concentrate on the content and not whether or not I was going to pop up on screen any time soon), I have to say it's a damn good representation of why Breakaway has been such a positive influence on my life.

To the next thirty years!

The Boys at Work

There’s this guy I ride the elevator with about once a week. He always looks (and sounds) like he just rolled out of bed. And onto the set of an Abercrombie and Fitch photo shoot.

We never really spoke to each other until last week when he ran into me in the lobby as I was picking up the Wall Street Journal for day. When he saw me, he swung around dramatically and said, “This is crazy! I see you every day!”

So now I know he’s a lawyer and he works three floors above me and he told me his name but I forgot, both because I’m horrible with names and because my foot was really hurting and I was focusing extremely hard on walking into the elevator without limping. (Our friendship being so new, I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with him.)

I saw him again yesterday, where else but getting into the elevator. “I see you every single day!” he said, although that’s an exaggeration because really it’s more like once every five to seven days. But I gave him some slack because it was Monday morning and he was hungover and I respect that in a person.

At least he gives me some innocuous entertainment.

On the other end of the spectrum is the guy who runs the mailroom. He was always friendly but one time I had to ask him about a package and he became friendlier. And then even friendlier.

“You’re looking good today,” he said two weeks ago, looking me up and down as I stood there looking like a goddamn stool pigeon in my ridiculous business casual getup.

I hesitate to even say such things in public as I know the Pandora’s Box it can open, but it’s times like those when I really wish I could truthfully say something about a boyfriend. I guess I could untruthfully say something but I’m horrible at lying and so instead I did what I usually do in situations like that, which was to coolly thank him and then try to avoid him.

But I still have to get the fucking mail every day, and now every time he sees me, he greets me, “Hey, beautiful!” in a voice that is really not appropriate for the mailroom in the lobby of a large office building.

If Abercrombie and Fitch Boy greeted me with “Hey, beautiful!” I’d probably laugh and secretly be flattered.  These guys are like a microcosmic glimpse into the complexities of the rest of my life, boiled down into two polar opposite categories.  I feel like I'm spending an inordinate amount of time trying to dissuade one type of behavior, trying to encourage another, and getting absolutely nowhere with either. 

It makes me tired.

UPDATE

Roughly thirty minutes after I posted that last entry, I pulled on my foot a whole bunch, heard it pop, and now all appears to be back to normal (!!?). 

The theory that I had a misaligned bone made sense to me on several levels, though I really wasn't expecting to be able to pop everything back into place as easily as I did.  No, it did not hurt.  What hurt was walking around on it for the past week...

Granted, I don't want to jinx it, so I won't completely believe all is well until I wake up tomorrow morning and there's no pain.  But I did walk around most of Rhodes campus this afternoon in flip flops and not once did I feel a thing.  

Hot damn.  (Also...yeah...I know...the Total Freak Out Award goes to...)

Or maybe I'm not okay...

My foot is no better.  

I had a meltdown about this on Thursday.  It was probably along the lines of how I might react if someone told me I had an incurable and deadly disease.  In reality, of course, it was nothing more than my foot hurting and not being sure I could run.  But if I couldn't run, then I might not be able to do the marathon in six weeks.  And if I couldn't do the marathon, then I wouldn't get to write the cover story for January's issue of the Memphis Runners Track Club magazine ("Becky's First Marathon!").  And if I couldn't do any of these things, then (possibly worst of all) I would be incredibly lonely during the healing process because, like a blow to the head, it hit me just how dependent I've become on running as a social outlet.  I live alone, I work in an office where it's just me and my boss...during the week, sometimes (many times) the only people I have real, face-to-face conversations with are other runners. 

Poor MEEEEEE, my life is oooooovvverrrrrr!

I went to Thursday night's run anyway because my doctor told me to try to run again on Thursday and even though I was depressed and knew it was going to hurt and that I'd have to stop, I wanted to try.  And then I tried and it hurt and I had to stop. 

So cue the waterworks (really, for the number of times I've cried throughout this shitty week, it's amazing my eyes still opened on Thursday) and everything is awful and I hate life and I was just starting to catch up but now everyone's going to leave me behind and I'll be sad and alone for the REST OF MY LIFE.  This is literally what was happening in the middle of Breakaway, along with my vocal and teary admission that I knew I was being irrational and that I had possibly become a little dependent on running as a means of leveling my mood and thus had been left somewhat unstable after five days of inactivity.

The universal response was:  "Becky, we understand exactly how you feel."

And then of course there was alcohol consumption.

I really can't stress enough how much comfort Breakaway gave me on Thursday.

Yesterday morning, a fellow runner got me in to see an orthopedic doctor.  He thought it was possibly tendonitis, possibly just a generic body-protesting reaction to running 18 miles last weekend, but most likely not a stress fracture and most likely nothing that would keep me from running the marathon.

Another friend got me in to see a physical therapist yesterday afternoon.  He thought it could be a stress fracture, but it could be a lot of other things too, including the bones in my foot getting slightly out of line after all that pounding, and that at any rate, it was far too early to count me out on the marathon.

As of this weekend, I'm on a steroid, I'm supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible, and then I'm to run again on Wednesday, at which point I have permission to keep running through the pain and try to make it four or five miles to really figure out how it feels.

All I know is that it hurts.  Quite a bit.  So...I'll guess I'll just have to wait and see... :-/

Here, Let Me Talk About Myself...

Alright, let's be honest here:  Sunday wasn't a good day.  I didn't handle that quite as well as I thought I might.

Also, my great Aunt Becky, whom I'm named after, is very, very sick and the time frame right now is one to two months.  I'm not that close to Aunt Becky, but my mom is, and my grandma certainly is, and they're both going through a very difficult time right now with this.

And I'm going through a difficult time remembering this time last year, and I'm not all that sure how to handle it because much as losing someone so young was new to me, so is marking the milestones for that loss.

And my fucking foot hurts like hell.

I made it through the 18-miler on Saturday with pain in many areas of my body, but my foot was not one of them.  After making it down to Mississippi, I drank more than I should and spent more time on my feet than I should, but I was pleasantly surprised just how mobile I was when I got out of bed Sunday morning.

Mid-morning, I put on some tennis shoes and noticed some pain in my left foot.  I was annoyed, but told myself that I ran 18 (motherfucking) miles the day before and I would be a fool to think there wouldn't be consequences.  But as the day wore on, the pain got worse.

So my foot hurts, I'm sad and depressed, my family is sad and depressed, thus I'm in bed by 7:30.

Still not feeling great after a long night's sleep, I briefly considered calling into work Monday morning and taking a personal day.  But I didn't.  On the upside, my foot seemed to feel better...until I put my shoes on. By the time I was leaving work to go home, my foot hurt so bad I could barely walk to my car.  Which put me in full panic mode:  I'm texting people, Facebooking people, putting up cries for help on the Breakaway Facebook page, calling podiatrists, being told there are no appointments for weeks, crying to my mom on the phone, convincing myself it's a stress fracture, convincing myself it's not a stress fracture, generally THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME.

Today, I took off work, went to see my general physician, and had an X-ray.  While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, the X-ray technician and the nurse stood outside my door, talking about my X-rays.

Technician:  "What is that?"

Nurse:  "That's called 'runner's foot.'  I ran track and cross country and high school and all the repeated pounding... [unintelligible as her voice drops to a whisper]"

Technician:  "And right here?"

Nurse:  "Uh huh."

Technician:  "Uh oh."

Nurse:  "Yeah."

They walked down the hall and I could only hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but I heard the word "pounding" several times, as well as the phrase "all that pressure and then..."

So I sat there, in that room, for ten minutes waiting for the doctor, thinking that my foot was broken.

That was a long goddamn ten minutes.

But my foot is not broken.  (Whew!)  It's just been under a lot of strain recently and it's not all that happy with me.  My doctor, though, has run a marathon or two in his day and he understood my concern and even helped me formulate a plan to cut back on my mileage this week but keep running so as soon as I'm back to normal, I can jump back into full training mode.

This week did not start off well, but now that things don't seem quite so dire, I'm feeling a little embarrassed about the way I freaked out yesterday.

So...deep breath.  The new plan is to wake up tomorrow and go back to being myself.  I'm usually steadier than this. 

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

Eighteen. Motherfucking. Miles.

This marathon shit just got real.

(Also, *pain*.)

Now it is off to John's undoubtedly epic going-back-to-school party, and then tomorrow is...tomorrow.

This weekend is doing everything in its power to exhaust me on every level imaginable.

Keep your fingers crossed I'm still able to walk when I wake up in the morning...

The Infamous Rhodes Nickname List

Can you blame me for re-reading the memoirs this week?  Never before published in public (and censored and incomplete here), here is The List.  (Did Kara and I ever call anyone by their real name?!)

Rhodes College, circa 2004:

‘80s-Bangs Girl:  She is two years below us and has unfortunate ‘80s bangs.  We would give her the benefit of the doubt, but her hair has remained in the same style for her entire tenure here at Rhodes.

Backpack Boy:  see Slick Nick

Boy Wonder:  see Jesus  

Chipmunk Boy:  Who looks a bit too much like a chipmunk for his own good.  He graduated last year as a biology major, and lived his senior year in the famous Apartment 204 with Satan #0.  He is known for having quite a dirty mind.  

Democrat Girl:  So-called because Kara thought her antics during the 2000 Presidential election were far too adamant.

Eavesdropper Boy:  Who enjoys sitting by himself at the Rat, just close enough to our table to overhear our outlandish conversations.  This was mostly a problem first semester of senior year, Friday lunches in particular.  Since, he has been spotted in the company of none other than Jamie Hulett, who attests that he’s actually a pretty nice guy.

Freaky Trenchcoat Boy:  Who lived on the second floor of EVA and earned his nickname rather honestly.  A junior, his look has changed over the years, and his sophomore tendency to grow facial hair and come to the Rat at the same time as Satan #0 frequently had me giving him unintentional second glances.  Erroneously believing that I was checking him out, Freaky Trenchcoat Boy earnestly returned the favor, and only added to the awkwardness while living in my building my senior year.  He quickly got over his crush, though, when I began noticeably avoiding him.  He twice held the door to EVA open for Kara, despite the fact that she was a good 500 feet away at the time.  He is never seen without sunglasses and, weather permitting, takes every opportunity to don his long black trenchcoat.    

Freshman Boyfriend:  Term first coined by Jordan, who had a small obsession with a freshman during her senior year of high school.  She once again found love with [name removed] her senior year of college, and the freshman boyfriend was reborn.  This boy is the one who, during your senior year, you pick out of the freshman class and giggle over his hotness.  You would never go for said boy because ew, he’s like 18.  Interaction of any sort is strictly prohibited.  Following suit, many in our group chose a freshman boyfriend, mine being Tom Cruise Boy, a Pike/Woolsock combo.  Megan also chose a Pike, but I don’t really know who he is.  Greta’s freshman boyfriend turned into something more (see Freshman Husband), and Crystal’s freshman boyfriend wound up being at least a junior (see Kitchen Bitch).  We’re not sure what his name is or where he came from, but he really, really likes the Lair.

Freshman Husband:  When the freshman boyfriend just isn’t enough, you move to the next level, as Greta did in the case of her freshman boyfriend.  Greta once had the good fortune to actually speak to this guy, which is why Kara was forced to coin this new term.  Sadly, he had to leave Rhodes after one semester due to some sort of academic inadequacy. 

Freshman Little Brother:  see Tom Cruise Boy

Freshman Pike from My Art Class:  Who somehow never got past this embarrassingly clunky nickname.  As a friend of Satan #1, his few antics are recounted in the Memoirs. 

Freshman Stalker (also Headphones Boy):  Who fell in love me on the first Thursday of classes his first semester at Rhodes.  It would be the first and only time I went to breakfast at the Rat that semester.  Thinking I, too, was a freshman, he struck up a painful and awkward conversation which died a painful and awkward death.  I got out of there as soon as possible and, finding that he was going to be walking in the same direction as me away from the Rat, I took a detour to Bellingrath.  Much to my horror, he reappeared after I had rerouted myself, thus again placing us on the same path and adding to the humiliation of the situation due to the obviousness of the fact that I had tried to avoid him.  Though I hoped this would be my last encounter with him, I soon discovered that he and I crossed paths roughly 15-22 times every day.  He was even at the freaking airport as we got ready to depart for London for Spring break.  That also led to an interesting situation, in that I was trying to be nice and ignore him and he insisted on cornering me in a magazine stand, forcing me to say “hi” and unnecessarily grabbing my arm as I tried to get past him.   

He is also known about campus for the fact that he is constantly wearing headphones (thus Headphones Boy).  He wears the same shorts and jean jacket every day, regardless of the weather (except for yesterday when he unexpectedly donned a pair of white MC Hammer pants), and frequently wanders about campus as if he has nothing better to do.  He is not actually stalking me, but I run into him far more frequently than just about anyone else on campus.

Freshman Stalker #2:  Who does not quite deserve the title he has been given, but the name has stuck nonetheless.  I was once standing around after Dr. LaRosa’s Colonial Latin American History class, waiting to go into Dr. Cohen’s Documentary Film class when he approached me.  I was apparently looking a little dejected because he got just past me and then turned around and asked if I was alright.  Stunned, I affirmed that I was fine.  

 “You just look so sad,” was his reply.   

I was slightly embarrassed and confused as to why I was exuding emotions of grief in the hallway when I really wasn’t upset in any capacity.  True, I wasn’t laughing with glee but, as I once said in reference to this very episode, “I’m not happy every single day of my life!”  It was one of those moments which you hope disappears in the annals of time, but, like his predecessor, freshman stalker #2 began to pop up everywhere I went.  He might be gay.  Like his companion stalker, he has a penchant for wearing the same outfit every day:  khakis, a striped t-shirt, and a grey hoodie.   

Fuck-Stick Boy (also Toolbag):  Who was in my intermediate painting class and looks like a serial killer.  

Headphones Boy:  see Freshman Stalker

Hissing Boy:  He earned his nickname after an encounter with Crystal in Burrow Library.  Her cell phone rang and, while rushing out of the library to talk, she passed him.  Apparently not pleased with the disturbance that accompanied the ringing, he hissed at her to be quiet.  Crystal has never liked him since.

Jesus (also Boy Wonder):  Jonathan Hulgan, Megan Pollock’s fiancé.  They began dating at the start of Megan’s senior year and five months later, the two were engaged.  As a strong member (even president at one point) of the Rhodes Christian Fellowship, Jonathan’s religious fervor, along with his long hair and proclivity to wear sandals every day, earned him the title of Jesus.  Also, his disgusting tendency to be the perfect boyfriend warrants him a Boy Wonder nod. 

John the Baptist (formerly Satan #2.1):  Alex, who joined our group of friends after a stint as a marine fighting in Iraq.  Though no amount of space could ever fully convey the weirdness that surrounds this enigmatic figure, he was, at one point, the object of Kara’s affection, thus earning him the Satan #2.1 moniker.  In retrospect, his antics and their relationship were not actually compatible with the predetermined Satan rules.  Megan renamed him on the way to the Rat, keeping the biblical theme but removing the stigma that comes with the Satan name (although he actually probably deserves it).       

Kitchen Bitch:  Crystal’s former freshman boyfriend, who outgrew this moniker by revealing himself not to be a first year.  Crystal and I decided to share said boy when I realized that my freshman boyfriend was really my freshman little brother.  Besides having a proclivity toward the Lair and being a soccer player, we also know this boy to be employed at the Flying Saucer.  His work in the kitchen and his frequent appearance there when we were in the building led Kara to dub him the Kitchen Bitch.  Initially overconfident, I told Crystal that I would reel him in for her.  The result was his temporarily thinking that I was stalking him and thus avoiding me at all costs.  Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend, the Kitchen Bitch may someday rightfully earn the title of Satan #3 should he choose to accept the responsibility (see Satan).   

Library Boy:  Some dude who kicks Kara out of the library when it’s closing.  I know no further details.

Memphis Bachelor Guy:  That inexplicably dorky business man who intermittently emerged from the depths of corporate Memphis to eat lunch at the Rat.  He was so dubbed by Carl, who only assumed his bachelor status.  However, I can confirm that earlier this year he did, indeed, bring a female companion to share his meal.  She looked horribly uncomfortable but stuck it out like a real trooper.  Memphis Bachelor Guy also has been known to bring male friends to the Rat, impressing them with the all-you-can-eat-for-a-ridiculously-low-price cuisine.  He is most frequently seen at lunch (Saturday in particular) and often brings the office with him, chatting on his headset whilst munching away in a solitary corner.  He once ate three seats over from Kara and me (a Saturday lunch) and while he appeared intent on joining our conversation, he never quite made the move.

Rapist Boy:  Who has been known to sexually terrorize the women at Rhodes. 

Red-Headed Slut:  Becky Heineke, so dubbed after an interesting Monday night at Neil’s.  After the traditional trip to the Flying Saucer for Pint Nite, I headed to Neil’s bar along with Kara, who was looking to hang out with a few of her residents celebrating a birthday there.  There was much frivolity and at one point [name removed] (whose birthday it was and who had a tab running) ordered me a red-headed slut shot, thinking it was fitting considering my physical appearance.  She took a sip and then gave me the rest.  Though I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, I am to this day teased about the fact that I took the entire shot in one drink.  Ever since, I have been known to certain residents of third floor Bellingrath as the red-headed slut. 

Rich Young Ruler (also RYR):  So named because his future seems a little brighter than the rest of ours right now.

RYR:  see Rich Young Ruler

Satan:  General term used to describe the object of your affection.  This crush of yours is characterized by occasional obsession and the full knowledge that this person, in some way, is not good for you.  His tempting nature is enough to keep you coming back for more, even in the face of serious misgivings from friends and other acquaintances.  In simplest terms, your Satan is he for whom you go to the Rat.

Satan # -1:  Ashley Arnold’s crush of four years, so named because he predates all other Satans.

Satan #0:  Whom I wrongly assumed to be the original Satan before talking to Ashley.  Because of this, he is sometimes erroneously given the subtitle “The Original.”  The bane of my existence for the duration of my junior year, he is discussed, in detail, in the Memoirs.

Satan #1:  The bane of my existence for the latter half of junior year and my entire senior year.  Possibly the worst of the all the Satans, he was co-named with Satan #2 around the end of first semester of senior year.  For more details than you ever wanted to know, see the Memoirs. 

Satan #2:  Kara’s own personal Satan and object of intense (intense) crushdom during those few months straddling Christmas Break.  Though her eyes have now been opened, he is still well in the throes of admiration, despite dating The Shrew. 

Satan #2.1:  Renamed John the Baptist

Satan-in-Spain:  Greta’s fling from her semester abroad, jokingly named but appropriate nonetheless.

Self-Portrait Girl:  A freshman of remarkable artistic ability who was in my intermediate painting class.  Though there was no denying that the girl was talented, she had the unfortunate tendency to paint herself for every assignment, regardless of the theme.

The Shrew:  A junior with no outwardly remarkable characteristics.  She dated Satan #2 prior to Kara’s attraction to him, and was blissfully abroad the semester the crush started.  Ironically, I often joked with Kara that she shouldn’t get too attached to her crush before Christmas Break because he may have a girlfriend who would be coming back from abroad.  I said this in a highly teasing manner, referencing my own Satan #0 disaster from exactly one year prior.  Little did I know…            

Slick Nick (also Backpack Boy):  Who is humorously in love with Kara.  He, along with Headphones Boy, is known for his tendency to roam the Rhodes’ grounds aimlessly at all hours, though instead of headphones, it is his backpack that he is never without.  He has been seen in the company of Democrat Girl.  Kara once stared him down in the computer lab, though this has not deterred his affections.  He also has a tendency to touch her in situations where touching is not necessary, such as in line at the Lair when he is three people in front of her.  Snort.      

Stirrup Boy:  Who was in physics with Dustin Diez and Kara during freshman year.  He had the unnerving tendency to place his feet in the exact position that a woman might should she have her legs in stirrups at a gynecologist’s office.    

Tapered-leg-jeans Girl:  Who came about her name quite honestly. 

Tapered-leg-jeans Girl’s Best Friend:  Who really needs a better nickname.  There’s no real describing this girl, aside from the fact that she’s sort of a mess and couldn’t ride a mechanical bull if her life depended on it. 

Tom Cruise Boy:  A Pike, a Woolsock, a freshman boyfriend.  Living in Townsend, he was first spotted by Megan, who was struck by his likeness to the famous movie star.  She now insists it was I who christened him Tom Cruise Boy, although everyone else remembers it being her who came up with the name.  It wouldn’t be an issue at all were it not for the fact that he doesn’t actually look all that much like Tom Cruise.  Anyway, though I did find him attractive, he always seemed a bit lost and very serious.  I quickly turned my attraction into a sort of motherly attention and began referring to him as my freshman little brother.  I have spoken to him, in line at the Rat when there was no one to swipe his card and he was unsure of the protocol in such situations.  Our interaction there secured his place in the freshman little brother category, and not the freshman husband category.  He also used to have facial hair and bore a slight resemblance to Satan #0.  He has since shaved and looks like he’s about 13.        

Toolbag:  see Fuck-Stick Boy

JOHN!

From MySpace, April 2, 2007:

I got a phone call yesterday from an international number.  My first reaction was to sit there looking dumbly at the phone wondering who would be calling me from outside the United States.  Then it occurred to me that my only sibling just happens to be residing in the Netherlands for the semester and perchance it was him?  It was.

I was going to try some pleasantries since it's the first time he's called me since he's been over there but he quickly did away with that, starting by saying, "Becky, hey, it's John, your brother, [he must have learned that phone technique from our mother who always starts her voicemail messages, "Becky, this is your mom," as if I wouldn't recognize her voice] and I'm in some serious trouble.  I'm getting deported." 

To back up, John got a letter a couple weeks ago saying that he was going to be deported because his residency hadn't been filed appropriately or something.  It didn't turn out to be quite the disaster that it seemed to be because there was something wrong with the mail system such that he wasn't getting most of his mail, including the warning letters that preceded this deportation notice.  He got it worked out through the school that he would contest the notice on account of not getting his mail and since it takes around 6 months for such infractions to go to trial, he would be back in the U.S. by that point anyway, thus skirting the issue altogether.

But he said he was calling yesterday because the police had come to his room and told him that he needed to start packing up his things because his trial was at 9:30 the next morning (today) and they were going to "hold" him until he got on a plane back to the U.S.  "Basically, they're going to put me in jail until I can get a flight home," he said.  "I can't get a hold of Mom and Dad and this is going to happen tomorrow."  I was trying to walk him through scenarios and ask how this was even possible since he'd been told by the school that he'd have a good six months but he said the police said it was a government matter and they weren't working in conjunction with the school.  The best he could do is try to talk to an official at his school in the morning before his trial but that the deportation people weren't buying his excuse that he hadn't been getting his mail and he was pretty sure he was going to have to come home. 

I then jumped in with, "OK, I'll try and find Mom and Dad.  Don't worry, it might not be all bad..."  He interrupts me with, "Becky, Becky, Becky, NO!  Think about what day it is!  Ha ha ha!  April Fools!"  And then he laughed heartily into the phone while I yelled "JOHN!" a couple of times until I'd calmed down enough to laugh too.  Man, he got me GOOD.  He was very convincing. 

When I decided I didn't need to yell at him any longer, I asked him about his recent trip to Paris because Dad had told me he went into the catacombs.  I'm obsessed with them and whenever I hear that someone has gone to Paris, the first thing I ask is, "Did you go in the catacombs?"  I never have.  I don't get to Paris all that often.  Or ever, aside from those two days after I graduated from high school, a trip which I remember little of aside from the fact that I didn't make it to the catacombs.  John said he took a video or something but it wouldn't upload to YouTube.  He didn't have much time to talk after that because he was going to go get a mohawk.

And that is my brother.

Regarding Commenting...

So...people haven't been able to comment over here for a couple of weeks now.  How fucking annoying.

After doing a little research on the subject and finding that many of the people with this same issue have been dealing with it for months (!), I'm going to try a few different things and see if I can't work out the problem myself.  Step one was to remove the word verification that Blogger suddenly enacted on my behalf, and since that made no difference, I'm now switching the comments section to a full page (a la I'm Stalking Jake!) because so many of the other blogs with problems have embedded comments at the bottom of the post, as this one always has.

I have no earthly clue if this will help, but it's worth a try.  Several people have also suggested that anyone who wants to comment should clear their cookies, but it seems to me this is pretty clearly an issue with Blogger and not with whatever browser you're using.

If you try to leave me a comment and it won't go through, feel free to either e-mail me or let me know on Facebook.  Or not.  I'm sure it'll work itself out eventually, but I'm not really sure what to do at this point except apologize.  Sorry!

What a Half Does to You

That is some unflattering shit right there.  Hilariously, I told my parents that I "immediately recovered" after I crossed the finish line of the Greenline Half Marathon this past Sunday, which, as witnessed above, obviously I did not. 

But I like that my brain thought that I did. :)

Becky's Unsolicited Movie Reviews: 50/50

It was probably a good thing that I was the only person in the theater, what with all of the ridiculous crying I did. 

So much more...real than I thought it was going to be. 

 

I'm glad I saw it.

I keep thinking about Kara.

I guess because it's October.  So it's time to start gearing myself up for "the anniversary."

I went to this pub crawl tonight with running people and it was fun.  It really, really was.  And yet as I was leaving my apartment, I had this strange thought that this was somewhat of a last hurrah before I "got serious" about reflecting on life and time and all that shit.  "Normalcy" will pick up again after the 16th, but in the meantime, I've got a hard milestone ahead and I might as well stop pretending I don't.

For all the good times - for all the alcohol consumed - tonight felt lonely.  It made me feel adrift.  It made me feel like I wanted to call someone and whine over the phone that I'd been looking forward to something that just didn't quite restore me in the way I wanted it to.

The thing about Kara was that if she didn't want to talk, she wouldn't answer the phone.  But if she'd answered tonight, I would have told her that I've had a hard couple of weeks, a nice couple of running accomplishments recently, and probably a couple too many drinks tonight to be calling anyone.

Sometimes I feel like I just don't know what I'm doing, you know?  I'm just out there.  Waiting for something...