When I told my legalized lervemunkee about the title of this blog and that it'd be about the things that cross my little mind as I run, hike, bike and walk the dogs as well as the dreams that wake me at night, he said, "I'd have called it Institutionalization without hesitation."
I've tried this before. I was so fed up with collecting the rubbish people leave behind that could be recycled, that I was going to blog it and then after I collected my weight in rubbish, I'd send the blog link to the papers and city council. GRRRRR! I was angry! But anger and wit aren't usually side by side and I deleted it after 2. While I definitely run faster when angry, I didn't want to put those vibes out there for others to become infected. I also felt I came off as Holier-than-thou. While I do feel my right foot is very attractive for a 38 year old, that is really my only claim to Übertoots.
I can't really have a running blog, as I only have two goals every time I run. I must beat my PW (personal worst) and be happy when I run. I'm not very focused. I daydream and trip and fall... a lot. I used to set my watch to go off every 3 minutes to remind myself that I'm here to run and not plod and look at pretty birds. But I do a lot of thinking, planning, scheming, and if they gave away prizes for best plans for political coups, I'd be in the booty, tooty!
I like to ride my bike, but I ride my bike like I'm seven. If I had more money, I'd buy a bike with a banana seat and plastic streamers, built to my height and weight. With a bell like a ladybug, natch! I'm not a good cyclist either. While I ride my bike to work most days, I usually run into the bollards at least once a week. Again, looking at anything but the road in front of me, and again... planning, plotting, avoiding blood clotting.
I wake up several times a night and therefore remember several dreams most nights. Oooh, like last night's dream where I was rock climbing and had no gear, just decided to climb a cliff (I'd advise against that) and I was struggling at the top but finally got over it and my left leg was just meat. I didn't remember scraping it on the rock but I must have. But wait! It's not meat. I've not hurt myself. It's rotten tomatoes, figs, coffee grounds... my leg was covered in the stuff I collect to compost. What did I eat last night?!?
And finally, I'm an immigrant.
Mandy Vandy's Candy! Amanda Vanstone is the immigration tightass here. She is a scary cow. When you immigrate alone instead of with all of your family, you lose that group of friends who got to hear all your venting and ranting. They're still there, I've lost no friends really, but the daily contact is gone, but my need to vent is still here. The highlight of my immigration process was DIMIA (Department of Immigration, Multicultural, & Indigenous Affairs) losing my FBI clearance. Wheeeeee!
Think of this blog as a way to give my poor husband's ear a rest. Don't feel sorry for him. He couldn't even remember the virgin Connie Swail! ...who, by the way, is a political activist and a tri-athalete... whudda thunk it for the virgin Connie Swail?