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the short, full day
November 23, 2004

my day was so simple. so much of it was not easy, but enough of it was special.
i couldn't get up this morning - it just wasn't going to happen. riding the wave has been exhausting lately. last week, i hit a wonderfully manic few days, and i tried to be careful, but a hectic weekend sapped my strength and my ability to ease the deceleration, to prevent or soften the crash.
i needed to play ball last night. perhaps i needed the adrenaline, the endorphins, the challenge. but the game, though indoors, was rained out. ancient gym, leaky roof. i started to go to the apartment gym to run on the treadmill, but that seemed intractably dull, so i didn't. i had a few beers and went to bed.
i finally got up at 4:15 this afternoon, only because the half-marathon training group was meeting at 5:45. thank god for that. nevertheless, even the drive there was an effort. i felt so on the edge of losing grip. when i got there, i felt lost and disconnected. i stretched by myself, until one of the people i've met and run with in the group, janay, started talking to me.
today was a hill workout, which sounded challenging. i told janay as we started running that i had reservations about how the whole thing would go, since i had only been awake an hour and a half, and hadn't even eaten anything. she asked if i was sick, and i waffled. i didn't want to lie, didn't want her to think i was contagious, and more so, didn't want to pass off what i felt as something less. "sort of" was the answer she got, and i mentioned that it wasn't contagious.
some time later, she reminded me that she was a psychologist, and that she couldn't help but put together some of the symptomology. she didn't slap a label on it, but it was a relief, of sorts, for her to acknowledge it and understand it. we talked a little about it, but i benefitted as much just from having a human being to talk to and listen to, and just to run alongside quietly with in the darkness.
we hit the point at which we were told to sprint up a hill, and i took the instruction seriously. i began striding, running on my toes, and the rest of the group quickly fell away. part of me knew that i was going way too hard, that i couldn't possibly sustain the pace, but i think i needed it, the release and the feeling of my body responding and feeling loose and free, and not just tired and lifeless. i paid the price later, but those few moments were worth it.
after the run, i felt phenomenally better. my body felt a bit more alive, and i was so grateful for the conversation. i drove up to meet francine to grab some dinner - i had had the foresight on my way to run to call her, to seek some company to help to dig myself out of this hole.
i stopped on the way to buy the new U2 album, "how to dismantle an atomic bomb." i've loved all their albums, but i think it's their best album in 20 years. it's an older, wiser unforgettable fire. the transcendent yearning of the edge's guitar work, of bono's voice, of the lyrics, that once filled every moment of every album, that faded some but still drove the later albums and made them special enough, is back. driving and listening, sitting here now and listening, some of the tracks pull so hard at me that, yeah, tears come, not for sadness, but just for the sheer, unbelievable, almost unbearable beauty of it. it's what music's all about - go buy it now.
anyway.
i met up with francine, had some yummy tortilla soup, some of her quesadillas, and we shared a piece of some pretty awesome cake. and we talked, for a couple of hours, and it pushed me a little further towards being better.
at 10, we left and went home. a day spent in fear of feeling empty, staying in bed, ignoring the world. 6 hours awake, but filled with the best my body could do, with music, with the kindness of a near-stranger, with the warmth of someone i've come to call a friend.
i know there's a lesson here, that the world is full of good things and experiences. i hate to feel so ungrateful, and i don't think i am. but i get tired. when you spend 16-18 hours awake, there's so much more space that is so often unfilled, despite your best efforts and intentions. it brings me back once more to hope, and in the ability to foresee something worthwhile in your day, in your future. that's what i'm struggling against. hopefully, these six hours tonight have refueled me enough to continue that effort.
so, gentle readers, i get some feedback from you guys, but most of it is via email or conversation. i look at the website of my Great Blog Mentor to the North, and she has really built a little community that interacts through her blog.
so here's my question for you. what keeps you going through the days? do you live out of habit, or are you able to foresee the worthwhile moments in your day? what are those moments? don't just sit there reading my blathering - share yourself.
Posted by Rob at November 23, 2004 10:47 PM
Comments
I have a more important question...How did the new shoes go?
Posted by: Mara at November 24, 2004 09:04 AM
well, i didn't get to wear the new basketball shoes, so i wore them to work today, a major basketball sin. as for the "other", or "grown-up" shoes, they're nice. a little snugger than i might like, but i assume they'll stretch... thanks for asking...
Posted by: Rob at November 24, 2004 10:33 AM
>what keeps you going through the days?
i get to drink booze and smoke pot at the end of the day. that's something to look fwd to!
>do you live out of habit, or are you able to >foresee the worthwhile moments in your day? what >are those moments?
sometimes i'll do things backwards or differently just to keep it interesting. having my morning tea or coffee while reading my daily dose of websites and news, etc. is something i cherish and enjoy very much.
if there is nothing to look fwd to each day, then i make something. even if it's something as simple as eating my favourite chocolate bar. my life can't be made completely of epic moments. it's the little things that help bring joy to my existence.
Posted by: Julie at November 24, 2004 03:10 PM