day 304

back to it!!!

the more things change...the more.....

Went out for dinner yesterday evening (drove by Toxichouse, It was there, I kept driving), come back, my stuff is moved around. Dunno what possesses It. Don't particularly care. Bitch. This is Its cycle: go manic, then quiet. No, it isn't easy. Again, imagine heading home not knowing what you'll find, but knowing SOMETHING will be wrong. Jeeeeez. If nothing else, seeing Its friends doing the stuff of life-cleaning, shopping, should have an impact. Instead It wastes Its days, then misdirects Its anger @ me. Really incredible.

St.Francis + this am, 8. Can tell the great days are winding down-dogpoop is def in the air (pre-mosquito season at least!). Again, lovely to see the usual suspects walking their dogs, the walkers joining their groups, nice. Just on the cusp of shirt off weather. Surprise was running into Lee. Earth's most miserable Strider was running, and it was great to see him. Bumped into him after @ the Y, said hello, he said he only did 2m. Hey, compared to what most people do, and considering there's a direct connnection between girth and mood, I was glad to see him. Back where he belongs. This time of year also breaks my heart: it was during temps such as these that I'd be on The Line, finishing my run, when I'd pass Steve-we'd look @ each other and say "shouldn't ONE of us be on the job?", then keep going. Wonder if the asphalt knows how important it is?

Actually looking forward to the Long Beach run. 10m instead of the Run for Israel sounds much more appealing.

***So, there I am, sitting in the cinema watching Magruber (dumb-ass flick, but hadda kill time 'til It left), when the ball and chain went off. It was Prodigal Son. Bless him. I'd driven him to rehab, he completed, went home. He sounded like the old days-a good thing. Hope he stays clean. What I don't get: he's "retired" (young, must be getting compensation or disability), moved first to Florida-where he called from his home's deck as he watched dolphins play, and now lives in Cape Cod. Basically, lives wherever he and his wife wanna, and he's got squat to do all day. Perhaps that's part of the problem, though he never had probs managing his time before. Harkens to my point that work is a centering thing-i.e. life may go to hell in a handbasket, but you know where your ass has to be for 8 hours a day. How many people fall to pieces when they retire?