Too Many Meanderings

So I had some Mohawk Valley adventures on Saturday. I started to write about one of them this morning, and I got bogged down. No matter, I thought. I can dash off an overview of the afternoon the cover each adventure individually as the week progresses. That did not seem to be working out either. After staring into space and questioning my life choices, I remembered: Monday Mental Meanderings. I can just follow my recalcitrant mind around the page a little, hit Publish and call it a day.

In my defense, I was doing some magazine work. I was revising and polishing (or do I flatter myself?) my articles for Mohawk Valley Living magazine, for which the deadline is tomorrow. I got them emailed out, for once forgetting to courtesy copy myself. In my detriment (I guess that’s not the opposite of defense; does anyone have a better suggestion?), I should have gotten those articles done last week and they’re not such brilliant prose at that.

My overall plan is to work more on my writing. Better blog posts, finish that novel. And that play. And the other play. Oh, and at least one interactive murder mystery. And here we come to my problem: I have too many potential projects. My mind won’t seem to settle on any of them. It skitters hither and thither. It — dare I say it? — MEANDERS!

This has become a rather circular post. I can’t seem to write, so I offer a Mental Meanderings Monday. The reason I can’t write is that my mind is meandering. Got that? If so, I shall hit Publish and call it a day.

Yes, Sweat!

I make bold to offer Running Commentary two days in a row, because this is the first time I’ve run two days in a row since I started running again last month.

I did not get out of the house till after nine. For one reason, since it was supposed to be warm today I figured I might as well wait for a better temperature. It was 42 when I set out, according to my thermostat, three degrees below where I usually dress in shorts and t-shirt. However, I had already put on the shorts and t-shirt. I observed that the sun was high in the sky. This would be fine.

It was fine. It looked like spring. I was running on completely bare, dry sidewalks. There was no snow in sight. Only my hands got cold. That was to be expected.

And my legs were tired. I thought, this is bad. I can’t keep writing blog posts about runs that aren’t fun. Well, apparently I can. I pondered how my readers might feel about it. Some readers might feel better, “Oh, it’s OK that my runs are still difficult; so are Mohawk Valley Girl’s.” Some might feel worse, “There’s no point in running! I guess runs NEVER get better!” I think the worst thing of all would be if they feel bored, “Oh no, not another dull Running Commentary! Just stay home, girl!”

I continued to feel tired as I ran down German Street. I decided to let myself off the hook as far as hills were concerned. Just keep going, I told myself. I ran through the high school parking lot and over the little footbridge. I would go up one street and down another, working my way back home.

I occupied myself with looking in people’s yards for flowers. Some people had nicely cleaned up last years skanky leaves. I must do that. Other people had not, so I felt a little better about that. Then I saw some purple crocuses and felt better yet.

Where, or where were those endorphins? I had been feeling down when I left the house and thought a run would help. Well, one must get through the difficult runs to get to the good ones. I persevered. I was soon rewarded by reaching the coveted “I can rock this” stage. My legs felt good! I could keep this up for a while. It was not a euphoric feeling exactly, but I certainly enjoyed it.

Of course it did not last. However, as I continued to run, it came back. I debated how far I would run. Further than yesterday at least. Perhaps not to the 35 minutes I should have been at by this time. Something in between?

I ended up running for 32 minutes, the length of time I was running before I got sick. As I walked my cool-down with Tabby I felt pretty terrific. I don’t think I have experienced endorphins yet, but I sweated out my bad attitude. That’s a pretty good accomplishment on Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

First Post-Illness Run

As my week of being ill progressed, I watched in dismay as the days when I did NOT run added up. But the Boilermaker, I thought. What about the Boilermaker? I made up my mind I would run today (Saturday). An off week is only a minor setback! I can still train enough in time!

We had gotten up at five (couldn’t sleep), and it was twenty after six when I got out the door. My thermostat said 40 degrees. Usually I go shorts and short sleeves for 45 and above. I put on my leopard-spotted long johns and long-sleeved ARMY t-shirt and hoped I would not feel too warm as the run progressed. As I brushed my teeth I could hear the wind whistling in a way that made me expect to hear the theme music to The Wizard of Oz and figured I would not over-heat. I put on my toque instead of a headband and set out.

The sidewalks and roads were still wet from last night’s rain, but there weren’t too many puddles to avoid. I decided a 20 minute run would be good enough and I was not obligated to run any hills. I turned towards Main Street, thinking I would run up it and over to the path over what used to be a hydraulic canal. It was grey and gloomy out. The sun was up but not very high. One of my favorite things is to go running while it’s still dark out and have the sun come up while I run. But this was nice, too.

I admired the bare trees against the grey sky but hoped for leaves soon. Looking closely at some of the branches I could see buds. Come on, Spring! The temperature was not too bad. I felt I had dressed appropriately. Only my hands were cold, especially my fingers. Well, one must deal with these things. As I reached the end of the first stretch of path and started across German Street the wind was directly behind me, pushing me. I appreciated the psychological boost.

I was running very slowly. Breathing was not difficult. My legs began to complain. Well, there is just no pleasing my legs. All week they felt awful, because I was neither walking nor running. Now I start to run and they bitch at me. I ignored them an kept going. Grey, cloudy skies ahead of me. If I looked straight over my head I could see a little blue peeking through. That gave me hope.

After a while the wind became dead against me. No matter, I told myself. More effort burns more calories and will better build me up for the Boilermaker. I would just have to live with the cold hands. I had had the foresight to stuff a tissue into my sleeve. I pretty much used it up. Again, no matter. There were other tissues back home, which is the general direction I was headed by now.

I headed towards Meyers Park. When I first started running again after moving to Herkimer (I had many sedentary months here first), I made it a habit to always go through the park, either at the beginning or the end of my run. I stopped doing this every time as my run area expanded, but it’s always nice to go through the park. I again admired the bare trees while feeling a little wistful that they are still bare.

My legs were SO not happy with me. I was resolutely trying to ignore them when suddenly I felt something… different. Could that be a muscle? Was I developing a muscle? Yes, I could feel my thigh muscles working. That was kind of cool. They were quietly pumping along in a business-like fashion and the rest of my legs were just kind of going along. They were no longer complaining. I can’t say it was the “I can rock this” stage. More like a determined, “OK, let’s DO this.”

It soon became clear that I would go over my 20 minutes, although not by much. I didn’t feel too awful. This was going to be all right. The sun was all the way up now and I could see blue skies up ahead. No, really, I saw actual bits of blue in between the clouds. It wasn’t just my end of the run optimism.

When Tabby and I walked my cool-down, my legs felt even better. I felt so happy that I had gotten that first run under my belt. When one has a pause in one’s running for whatever reason, some say just getting started again is the hardest part. I expect to find out tomorrow if that is true or if continuing is just as hard. No matter. I intend to run regardless of difficulty. I’m a runner again.

Lame at the End of the Tunnel

I had hoped not to have Lame Post Friday, after my week of illness and recovery. I was feeling much better earlier today. My stomach felt NOT sick. I did NOT have a headache. Oh, life was wonderful.

Of course it did NOT last. I didn’t even make it till lunch before I started to peter out. “I ran out of oopmh before I ran out of day,” I told a co-worker. Of course, that phenomenon often happens to the working stiff, convalescent or not. One perseveres and tries to get the work done regardless. I even did some writing during my lunch break, but it was not for the blog and it was definitely not finished. Still, it felt good to write.

Um, not that I have NOT been writing. I’ve been working on a letter to a friend. I’m often writing a letter to a friend or relative. At least it is putting words on paper. Still, it doesn’t help when I have to hit Publish on something or finally go a day without making a post (NEVER! NEVER! At least, NOT TODAY!). I have been fired with ambition to write lately but, alas, the ambition has not been accompanied by inspiration or even any ideas. So I write rambling letters or type in lame blog posts.

However, I say it again, one perseveres. At least I felt good for the morning. Perhaps tomorrow I will feel better for a longer period of time. Soon, dare I hope?, I will feel better for a whole day. At least I shall try to get my blog post written before I start feeling crappy again. As always, thank you for playing.

Off to Break a Leg!

The decision has been made to act. I only wish the decision had been made to write my blog post earlier today. In my defense, I was writing a letter to a friend, which I believe is also an important thing to do.

I do want to express how happy I am that my husband Steven decided to audition. I hope he gets a part, but I feel sure we will have fun just going to auditions. We’ll see some friends from Ilion Little Theatre. We may make new friends at Players of Utica. I can write another blog post about the experience. I may even get an article for Mohawk Valley Living out of it. And it will be something fun and different to do on a Thursday evening.

“Instead of sitting around in our sweats, watching TV,” I said to him. “Of course, that’s fun, too,” I hastened to add. Time with my husband is always worthwhile. “We’ll step out of our comfort zone,” I clarified, realizing that is quite literal, because sweats and sitting around is extremely comfortable.

I have to admit, though, it isn’t too far out of our comfort zone. We don’t often venture to Utica after dark, but a friend is nicely driving us. We have never auditioned for Players of Utica, but we have auditioned many times for many plays, and even been cast in a few (full disclosure: Steven more than me). I daresay I am much more comfortable auditioning now than I was many years ago.

Further full disclosure: I am writing this on the fly while waiting for the friend to pick us up. Ah, Monday’s hypothetical critic pipes up and says, “You don’t have to tell us you’re writing on the fly! This post sucks!” Wow, I am writing in a hurry. That is the best insult I could think of for my hypothetical critic. Never mind. I’m off the break a leg!

To Act or Not to Act?

More specifically, to audition or not to audition? I say audition. Steven is undecided.

The play in question is One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Players of Utica. The idea of auditioning came up a few weeks ago, when we were dining with a couple of theatre friends prior to seeing The Psychic at Ilion Little Theatre. Of course, in the moment, we all said, “Yeah! Let’s audition! We’ll all go together! It’ll be great!”

A little time passes. Utica seems further away than it did from Ilion (well, I think it is a mile or so closer to Ilion than to Herkimer, but I suppose it depends on which road you take). We’ve never auditioned for Players of Utica, in fact, we don’t even know where they are. Oh, being in a play is so much time and work. We like to come home, put our sweats on and relax after work. We won’t audition.

A little more time passes. Our theatre friends contact us and say, “Hey, are we auditioning or what?” (or words to that effect). Suddenly we remember why we wanted to audition in the first place. WHAT SHOULD WE DO???

Full disclosure: Steven is the one who is more likely to get cast in this production, and he is the one I would really like to audition. After all, I was just in a play. I love to see Steven on stage. He is an excellent actor. However, I will go along and audition. I like to read for a part and, hey, you never know.

I think we will audition. I’m already planning to write a blog post about it.

Too Sick to Type Anything Good

I called in sick to work today, and I am taking a Bloggers’ Sick Day. On the one hand, you might think I would not have to. After all, I spent the day sleeping and trying to hydrate (a doctor told me the body can ride out many things if it just stays hydrated). One might think I would be feeling better enough to write something decent (wait a minute, would this be one of those hypothetical people we discussed yesterday? Never mind). It has often been observed, I can’t do anything about what other people think about me.

I am feeling marginally better. I woke up in the night with dreadful insomnia. After striving NOT to toss and turn for a couple of hours, my stomach started in. I’ll spare you a blow by blow of my sufferings, but it was bad. I am a HUGE baby when I am sick, and this was worse than my usual sinus, headache, light-headed things that I seem to spend so much time complaining about. One thing about intense nausea, when it finally goes away, I feel SO HAPPY! When the headache goes away, too, my life will be perfect.

Being sick makes for quite the boring day. Sleep felt good when I finally got some, but I couldn’t sleep all day. I read a little, but my head didn’t like that. I thought about turning on the TV but couldn’t quite make up my mind to (indecisiveness is often another symptom of these illnesses). I got on Facebook, but all I could think of was this other (terrible) job I had. A guy had called in sick, and the boss said, “But he was on Facebook this morning.” I was not even on Facebook at the time, but I remember thinking, “Oh, come on, to sit in front of the computer and maybe hit a few keys, you can do that with your head in your hands feeling awful. Getting stuff done at work, not so much.”

This morning, I wondered if any of my Facebook work friends would say, “She can’t be too sick; she was on Facebook.” So I made sure I posted how awful I was feeling. Then I felt guilty, because other people have far worse illnesses than mine (see above statement about me being a baby). Then I got off Facebook, because my head was hurting again.

My husband just looked over and said, “It sounds like you’re saying more than, ‘I’m taking a blogger’s sick day.'” Thus proving my point that you can type in dire circumstances. However, as the late, great Truman Capote once said, “That’s not writing, that’s typing.”

Hypothetically Blogging

I’ve got it! Monday Mental Meanderings. This is my new feature. It replaces Monday Middle-aged Musings, which I have mentioned I don’t particularly like. But who could dislike mental meanderings? Oh, I suppose somebody could. Well, that unpleasant hypothetical person does not have to read this.

Here’s a contradiction I just noticed about myself. I hate hypothetical questions yet I constantly have conversations with hypothetical critics. I say they are imaginary conversations (usually arguments) with people in my head (or is that conversations in my head with imaginary people?), but I’m pretty sure they are also hypothetical. Wait a minute. I was just about to embark on a diatribe against hypothetical questions when it occurred to me that I may have already published such a thing. A pause while I check.

A cursory check of past posts revealed nothing. So I continue. I hate hypothetical questions because they usually assume the impossible. “Your house is on fire. All family and pets are saved. You have time to go back and save one object. What do you save?” That’s RIDICULOUS! You don’t go back into a burning house and save one object! That’s asking for death! “Yeah,” says the questioner, “but if you could?”

“YOU CAN’T!!!” I repeat.

Then there’s my favorite (I can’t believe I never put this in a blog post before, but I don’t mind repeating myself): “If you could invite any three people, living or dead to dinner, who would you invite?” For God’s sake, I can’t invite three people who live in this town to dinner and count on them all being able to make it on the same night, never mind the Nobel prize winners or movie stars people usually answer this question with. However, my answer to the question is, “I would invite three dead people, because they wouldn’t eat too much. They also wouldn’t talk too much. It is a well-known fact that dead men tell no tales.”

BUT, one may argue, what if somebody asked you a hypothetical question that did NOT assume the impossible?

Waaaait a minute! Did a hypothetical person just ask me a hypothetical question? I just told you, Homey don’t play that!

Here is a non-hypothetical question: What does anybody think about Monday Mental Meanderings?

Almost Perfect

I preface this post by saying that I have just had a lovely day. I had a fun visit with some of my family, ate a wonderful dinner, and now I am home relaxing with my husband and dog. It is the bra off, sweats on portion of the day. The only thing lacking in my day is to hit Publish on my blog post. Then my life will be perfect.

That is something I am fond of saying, “And then my life will be perfect.” I seem to think I coined the phrase one morning in the army. I was still an IET soldier (Initial Entry Trainee), when they made you do all kinds of ridiculous things. On this morning we had to be in Class B uniforms, standing outside in the cold for an interminable length of time. Class B meant skirt, pantyhose and pumps (although I could and later did wear comfy flat tie shoes with the skirt) (there are pants for female Class B as well; I don’t remember if they specifically told us to wear the skirts or if I just could not be bothered to keep my shirt, belt and fly straight on the pants).

Where was I? Ah yes, standing out in an unusually cold day (Monterrey, California was usually a pretty straight 70 degrees), with my toes becoming numb. Cadre was ignoring us but not dismissing us to class, and we were muttering to each other under our breath. I did not want to sound like a big fat whiner (I know, that’s what I pretty much am, but sometimes I don’t want to sound that way), so I said, “If I could take off my shoes and rub my feet for thirty seconds, my life would be perfect.”

Now I know, my life will never be PERFECT. But, really, doesn’t that sound much better than, “My toes are so cold I think I will cry”? So I know I will not have a perfect Sunday. Yet, I hope to avoid my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday. For one reason, I feel somehow not right having a Wrist to Forehead Sunday on Easter. However, we all know I am rarely up to writing a real post on a Sunday. Also on the Wrist to Forehead side of the scale, holiday or not, I have to work tomorrow. I fight, fight, fight the urge to jump on the Monday Sucks, Everything Sucks bandwagon, but, well, let’s just say, Sunday is not always the thrill I am hoping for.

Back to the Life is Almost Perfect side of the scale, I see I am over 400 words. A more than respectable post! I shall soon hit Publish! Everything will be delightful (that is another favorite expression of mine).

Come on, Spring!

Technically, Saturday Running Commentary could come back today, but I don’t feel like writing about that run. I ran in place on the mini-tramp, because it was raining and snowing. I watched the rest of that silent movie The Monster that I was watching before (took me three runs to see the whole thing) (and I’m still not clear on who the titular monster was). It continued to precipitate on and off for the rest of the morning, with the wind whistling in an alarming fashion (I always worry somebody will come along and drop a house on me) (it happened to a sister of mine once; long story), so I drove to the post office instead of taking my usual walk with Tabby. This afternoon, however, the sun came out and I thought I would give it a try and perhaps write a Pedestrian Post.

I hid upstairs while I changed sneakers, so Tabby would not get too excited too soon. Of course that merely delayed the inevitable. She was jumping and barking long before I was done puttering around looking for hat, gloves and poop bags. At last we were on our way.

The sidewalks were almost completely bare and dry. I reminded myself to appreciate that and not repine over the dropping temperature. For heavens’ sake, it was in the 60s yesterday. Did it have to drop all the way into the 30s? I kept telling myself it was above freezing, resolutely refusing to speculate on what temperature the windchill was inducing. Tabby did not seem to notice anything but trotted along happily, stopping many times to sniff.

We headed down Bellinger Street toward Meyers Park, Tabby leading the way. I looked around, testing my theory that sunshine makes anything look better. I suppose it does, but I am tired of seeing brown grass and bare trees. Courage, I told myself. Things will grow eventually. At least a lot of the snow is melting. Of course, one effect of that is a lot of old dog poo is appearing. I tried to keep Tabby from sniffing it. “You know what poo smells like,” I tell her. Oh, I know, she probably smells a lot more variation that I do.

Every once in a while the wind would completely die out and I would feel warm sunshine. It never lasted long, but it gave me hope. However, soon the wind started whipping more coldly and my sinuses were not happy. I persevered, because Tabby was so obviously enjoying herself. Also, I must admit, the walk felt good on my legs. I do love to walk. I tried to concentrate on that and ignore the wind. It helps that I have a sweet, cute dog. I look at her trotting along and I feel better about everything.

As we approached home I saw some shoots coming out of the dirt at a neighbor’s house. Yes! Something growing! That makes three houses where I have observed signs of life. It was really not a bad walk, but I sure did appreciate a cup of hot tea when I got home.