All told, things are pretty good. I'm off the 5:30 AM bandwagon after being talked out of it by a friend. Frankly, I didn't need much convincing. I like having a life, you see. I like staying up late and reading sometimes and I like seeing my friends (yes, even those that don't ride bikes or show up at the cove). I've managed, after a week of sleeping in, not working out much and feeling even more tired than before, to get myself on a 6:30 AM kick instead. I'm not working out when I get up-- hopefully I'm doing that later in the day-- but I'm getting more done. I'm getting scheduled... organized.
Not that this is important.
I had a few moments, when I saw someone struggling with the kind of busy schedule that I had before lavaman-- work, working out, yoga, extracurricular work, fundraising, classes-- where I was jealous of such a full life. Then I remembered, as much as the experience was worth it, how drained and cranky it made me sometimes. I remember, towards the end, feeling that I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I vowed that, after the race, I would slow down. I didn't and now my body is forcing me to as tendons swell and crunch and joints creak and remind me that I am not, spandex notwithstanding, actually a superman.
There are times to push ones limits and times to listen to one's body. Sure, everyone should bite off more than they can chew every now and again (or so I am informed by the "Most Interesting Man" Dos Equis billboard ads), but everyone should remember to take time to be kind to themselves as well.
It's time to shift focus. It's time to relax the body. It's time to exercise the mind again. I fear it's gotten out of shape.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Suave
And then she invites me for a drink and I remember that I am actually, really, pretty good at this stuff.
Sort of.
It may be that, in the three hours between getting her message and meeting up with her I rushed out of the house to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine I thought she might like, as a Bastille day present (she's French, if I haven't mentioned that-- or even if I have), fretted over the variety and origin of said bottle, vacillated on what to wear, decided, discovered that the shirt I had chosen was dirty and our laundry machines were in use, washed my shirt in the sink, drove to the laundromat to dry it, played some Ms. Pacman, fretted some more, ate dinner, showered and then packed up the wine with two glasses and a corkscrew in an old messenger bag and headed over to see her.
It may have been that all of those things happened. The affect, however, is that I showed up in my awesome new pants with a demi-bottle of wine that happened to be from a town 5 minutes from where she grew up and she suggested that we take it to the park and drink. So we did.
We sat overlooking the city, with bunny rabbits prancing all about and other magical woodland creatures, I'm sure. We were not bothered by homeless meth-addicts. It was all very romantical, except I didn't really give a shit about the setting so much as just about being close to her and listening to her talk and making her laugh when I could. I think I did OK.
Score one for me.
Sort of.
It may be that, in the three hours between getting her message and meeting up with her I rushed out of the house to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine I thought she might like, as a Bastille day present (she's French, if I haven't mentioned that-- or even if I have), fretted over the variety and origin of said bottle, vacillated on what to wear, decided, discovered that the shirt I had chosen was dirty and our laundry machines were in use, washed my shirt in the sink, drove to the laundromat to dry it, played some Ms. Pacman, fretted some more, ate dinner, showered and then packed up the wine with two glasses and a corkscrew in an old messenger bag and headed over to see her.
It may have been that all of those things happened. The affect, however, is that I showed up in my awesome new pants with a demi-bottle of wine that happened to be from a town 5 minutes from where she grew up and she suggested that we take it to the park and drink. So we did.
We sat overlooking the city, with bunny rabbits prancing all about and other magical woodland creatures, I'm sure. We were not bothered by homeless meth-addicts. It was all very romantical, except I didn't really give a shit about the setting so much as just about being close to her and listening to her talk and making her laugh when I could. I think I did OK.
Score one for me.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Do You Remember That Time?
That time in-between?
You are ready. You are so ready after that first date that went so well, after you've called and left your message and then are waiting. It can begin to build up inside you while you wait for that call. You can do crazy things, wondering. This is the time when things most often go awry.
My friend pointed out that this is because it is also the time when things are most fragile. When you still know so little about each other, so there's a tendency to read everything into each little action or lack thereof.
Damn straight.
I wish I could say that I take this part all in stride, that I leave my message and then promptly forget about it and that I never allow myself to vacillate between fantasies of entering into a real relationship-- of travelling together, of waking up on a Sunday morning and listening to the radio in bed-- and then of those where I simply never hear from her again. Outwardly, I think, I'm able to manage a certain grace. I can strike a balance between calling when it's appropriate, without trying to wait the requisite number of days to look cool, and then waiting for a response without becoming overbearing. Inside though, I'm spinning. It's all gone pear-shaped from this point on too many times for me not to have negative associations attached to it. If I'm not careful, the inertia of my own worry threats to topple me and I must remember that I am lucky to be able to feel this way. I am lucky to have the luxury of this chance.
And I am grateful. I really am.
You are ready. You are so ready after that first date that went so well, after you've called and left your message and then are waiting. It can begin to build up inside you while you wait for that call. You can do crazy things, wondering. This is the time when things most often go awry.
My friend pointed out that this is because it is also the time when things are most fragile. When you still know so little about each other, so there's a tendency to read everything into each little action or lack thereof.
Damn straight.
I wish I could say that I take this part all in stride, that I leave my message and then promptly forget about it and that I never allow myself to vacillate between fantasies of entering into a real relationship-- of travelling together, of waking up on a Sunday morning and listening to the radio in bed-- and then of those where I simply never hear from her again. Outwardly, I think, I'm able to manage a certain grace. I can strike a balance between calling when it's appropriate, without trying to wait the requisite number of days to look cool, and then waiting for a response without becoming overbearing. Inside though, I'm spinning. It's all gone pear-shaped from this point on too many times for me not to have negative associations attached to it. If I'm not careful, the inertia of my own worry threats to topple me and I must remember that I am lucky to be able to feel this way. I am lucky to have the luxury of this chance.
And I am grateful. I really am.
Monday, July 13, 2009
These Are My Wishes For You
That you will be able to go home and see your grandfather before it is too late.
That "too late" will turn out to be not for some time still.
That you will get lots of work that you enjoy.
That your days will be full and busy and fun.
That contentment will be yours.
That I will see you soon and often and have a chance.
...
Oh, wait. That last one was for me.
That "too late" will turn out to be not for some time still.
That you will get lots of work that you enjoy.
That your days will be full and busy and fun.
That contentment will be yours.
That I will see you soon and often and have a chance.
...
Oh, wait. That last one was for me.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
A Movie First, Then Dinner
A woman walked into my apartment in stripper heels and a slinky black dress that didn't quite cover the bottom of her ass. In this, she made me dinner, clomping around, bending over occaisionally to afford me a view of her black, see-through, frilly panties...
...and that, gentle reader, is where the comparisons to a Penthouse Letters submission will end, because I didn't. It wasn't unreasonable for her to expect it, because we've had somewhat of a thing from time to time, but you see the thing is this: last night SHE leaned across her car seat unexpectedly and pulled me in for a kiss, and when I felt HER lips on mine my first thought was simply, no one else. *This* is all I want.
...and that, gentle reader, is where the comparisons to a Penthouse Letters submission will end, because I didn't. It wasn't unreasonable for her to expect it, because we've had somewhat of a thing from time to time, but you see the thing is this: last night SHE leaned across her car seat unexpectedly and pulled me in for a kiss, and when I felt HER lips on mine my first thought was simply, no one else. *This* is all I want.
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