Friday, September 30, 2011
It was the same old early morning torture, BUT, alas, you see something has begun to work. My first lap around the park began as always, dragging my feet and groaning on the inside. I hate running, but I started, I picked up my feet, I remembered to try to control my breathing, make my strides count, and consciously watch my feet go one in front of the other. I rounded the first bend and saw the street light where I usually stop and start to walk, but it was coming up faster than usual. I got there and I kept going. "Don't stop, you can do it, just keep going, you're almost there." I repeated that over and over while listening to the footsteps keeping pace behind me and the ones that were just up in front of me in the distance. I was in the middle of the pack, not back in second to last like usual. The girls in front, the weekend half-marathoners, the "runners", were just ahead of me.
My aversion to running is ever so sligtly lessened by my ability to persevere through the endless repetitions of squats, flys, dead lifts, bicep curls, crunches, and the like. I can really knock those out. I figure the faster I get them done, the faster I can go to bed. Not so. The faster I got them done, the faster I was sent out to run the loop, and at this time, I was in the lead. Well until the near end, and then one of the runners caught up with me. But still, there for a few minutes of solitary hoofing it, I was the head of the pack, the grand poo bah, the and it felt gooood. As God is my witness, I shall never be at the back of the pack again!!!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
*Search your heart and devote this time to something, to someone, give it meaning and purpose. (Imagine if we each did that everyday in some capacity. What kind of change we could collectively make in this world.)
*Where you are is right where you're supposed to be.
*Let go all all the things you're holding on to that are not serving you.
*Listen to your body, don't ignore what it's telling you.
*Don't forget to breath.
Yoga is just as mental and spiritual as it is physical. I really, truly have come to appreciate it and all that it forces me to be for 90 minutes at a time. The yoga studio has become a refuge for me.
Refuge and place of peace, aside, I cannot NOT share this though. It is brilliant and made me laugh until I cried. Please, if you ever do just one thing at my advice, read this!!!
Yoga mat for sale used 1 time.
Namaste, my friends.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
That's my "info". Front & center.
I wrote this blog yesterday on the back of a "Dear ____" letter that's never going to be sent. I just wrote the words down to get them out of my head,I was never going to send it to him.
Yesterday, not in a letter, I spoke my mind...again. i used the word "done" three times. Feeling the frustration & guilt over that and well, just the lonliness of saying "I'm done" to someone who's been there everyday for months, I found myself in the back room digging behind all the lovey Nicholas Sparks books to that "other" stack of books. Yeah, I needed the He's Just Not That Into You slap upside my head.
I could write the list of pros & cons and watch how they inevitably come unbalanced, but I still have this feeling that I have to be validated. I want to be wanted even if it's not by the right person. I keep thinking about the bad things to keep me from missing the good things. It's how I make this work for me. It's how I stop cold-turkey. I can't wean off like I'm an addict, that just keeps me coming back for more.
There's some other things going on. The loss of long term friendships & my relationship with my dad. Lean on your friends to get you through is the advice...well, I think I need to lean on me too. I forget that I am my own friend too. I've never been this unsociable in my life.
I've had my "own" place for just over three weeks. I've never lived alone, but that's all I wanted for so long. Now I'm here and I don't really like how it feels. Not entirely. It's quiet, too quiet sometimes. It's open & void of voices. It's still just a house & not my home. It's missing...
I think I'm conditioned for malfunction. Like my health & my physicality, it's taking so much out of me to get back on track. I've never been great at being proactive. Breaking up all this scar tissue, it's so hard, but I'm doing it. Now, to do this with my dear heart...break up all that scar tissue & get it moving in the right direction.
Love is a verb not a noun. So is like, so is call, so is think about me, so is smile, so is wake up, so is take a chance...
I know I don't want to settle, but that is so easy to get sucked into. I'm still learning the lines between not settling & being too picky. I'm learning.
It's nights like tonight that I just want to go outside and scream "Where is he already?!?". I know I won't get any answers shouted down from the heavens or trip over Mister Right, but I still want to scream.
Dear Heart, when will we ever learn the answer to that question?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Here I was standing at my kitchen counter, legs shaking, still sweating even though it was only 78* in the house, the gallon of milk might have been a bag of cement.
Bootcamp, week 3. What?! I got through 2 weeks already?! AWOL this morning, the instuctor sent me a text to get to the afternoon class. Yes ma'am!
I made the warm up loop at a fast jog without quitting. That's a big deal for me, ya know?! My weekend wedding in heels killed my baby toes but even those little guys tougher out the hour in booty camp today. "oh my baby toe!!"
An easier warm up run was just that. The next 50 minutes of 20 seconds of reps at a time was an ass kicker. We did suicides, nuff said. The great thing about this sweet torture is that I can't pull my mind away from it long enough to get fixated on the other things bringing me down this week. It's a tourturous break, 30 seconds at a time.
I'm still huffing & puffing & trying not to go down, but I am getting stronger & I am seeing little changes. Mentally, I'm more in this game than I have been in a long, long time. That counts for so much.
The quote at the end of the hour did me in: "I am strong and know no limits. I can defy gravity and shatter stereotypes. My curves are earned as my weakness is shed. I trade soft for firm and tears for sweat. I turn guilt into satisfaction and tomorrow's chore into today's opportunity. I am confident and I inspire to be great!" ~ author unknown
Friday, September 23, 2011
Morning bootcamp means lots of running. Lots and lots of damned running, and lots and lots of repetitions. So many of both, that I couldn't see where I was running through my eyelash sweat. As I stood, legs shaking, in the dim moonlight of the tennis court, and listened to Adam Lambert, I wanted to scream right along with him "what do you want from me!?!"
I was sweating like I was standing in the shower. But I wasn't. I was outside under the stars and my sports bra was forming a small puddle. There's not much more to report about the remainder of the repetitive torture. I'm down 6 lbs. Yeah, just 6, but that's 6 down...and they're down slowly but surely, which means they should stay down. I'm halfway done. What an accomplishment!
Laurie - there's only one person who ever calls me this and when he first started, I balked at it. "I'm not Laurie, I'm Lauren!" Now, I rarely talk to him and I wish I heard that "Laurie" more often.
Lauuuurenah! - Mom's nickname, she says it with a little bit of a drone, a little bit of a lilt, usually with some exasperation or heavy laughter. It's Mom's nickname. 'Nuff said.
Lolo - This kind of just started one day. Someone at work used to call me on occasion, but then I started camping with a group that had a guy Loren and then there was the me Lauren and the children just could not keep up. So, from then on, I was Lolo. There are those that might actually think my name is Lolo, for that's how I'm introduced in that circle. It fits, it's fun. I like it.
Lo - one of my bestest friends calls me Lo with such affection, I can't help but smile at it. It is a nickname of a nickname, but it's short and sweet and I answer to this name as well.
LC - My initials and another work nickname. For the record, I was LC before that Hills girl and her fashion line were born. I think if I ever get married and change my last name, I will still use LC because I like it and it's always going to be part of me.
H2o - This one night I went drinking. I drank a lot. Then I walked to some one's house that lived downtown by the bars. When I got there, I drank a LOT..of water. I mean a TON of water. I was doing the quick flush before I ended up puking. It worked, but then I owed that girl a lot of bottled water. One day I repaid her. I went to Costco and bought her a case of water and left it on her porch when she wasn't home. I became H2o after that. :)
Karma - Well, this is my blog after all. My writing soul mate, Carly, my dear heart, started calling me that sometime in the last few years. I was new to this whole blogging thing and on an absolute whim, I don't even know how I found her, I read something brilliant that she read and then I told her and we have been friends ever since. I answer to Karma, literally and figuratively. It is an ironic flattery to have that as a nickname.
Seems redundant at first glance, but these are all so different from each other. Plans are immediate, dreams fuel your fire for a better life, goals are what you're already working towards.
I'm going off the cuff, not thinking too hard, speaking fromy heart.
I plan to go to the gym tomorrow, bootcamp
#8 on Wednesday, bootcamp #9 on Friday, and work 2 days this week. I plan on calling the exterminator, the phone company, and getting the oil changed. I plan on making pasta on Saturday and visiting my family to celebrate the loss of our dear cousin. That's it, I have those things planned out right now.
For continuity, let's go for goals next. It is my goal to loose 25 more pounds before the end of the year. It is my goal to take the plunge and email a few of the men who have sparked my interest online. You can't win if you never play the game. It is my goal to continue to pay my bills in the next few weeks and settle my some bad debt before the end of this year. It is my goal to stick to my guns. It is my goal to smile more.
I dream...of being a wife, mom, photographer, & happy. I dream of seeing the world & giving back as much as I can. I dream of waking up peaceful & going to bed the same way. I dream of a time in life when there's no worry, anger, or frustration, or bad debt. I dream about sunsets, lightning storms & wrap around porches. I dream about moving out of CA. I dream about the things that money can't buy. I dream a lot.
Wow...uhhh...ummm...well, I can tell you who I don't want to switch lives with. Sarah Palin, Oprah, Rosie O'Donnell, Adam Lambert, Gilbert Gottfried...the list could just go on for days, but celebrity, fame, recognition, and all the flattery and falsehood that goes with it has no appeal for me.
Who would I like to switch lives with? Well, I just don't know. I know that everyone has their fair share of grass in differing stages of greenness, but I don't envy anyone at the moment or wish I could have their life. I am always in the battle between greatful with what I have and wanting to better for something else that I want. Contentment is more of an adjective for my life than "happy." I have a want for "happy."
I guess if there was such a person out there with such a life where she woke up peacefully every morning, next to someone she loved that loved her back, in a house that felt like a home, that was filled with sunshine and good memories, maybe some little feet, had something she was passionate for, a place where she had a healthy outlet for creatvity, and lots of room around her big dinner table for friends and family in her cozy house on a farm somewhere, well...I think I would want her life. Even for a day, just to feel what it was like.
Day 16: post another picture of yourself:
This was last week. I liked how my hair was shining in the sun. I liked how my glasses fit on my face. I liked how the sun feels on my skin. I liked driving my car. It's a simple as that.
PS -I wans't mad...just "serious" and driving and taking self-portraits.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
It is a ruckus.
It is a riot.
It is ridiculous.
I don't mean any harm to the reputation of the sport or the serious players out there. I was an avid tennis player for many, many years, so I can appreciate this sport. I quite enjoy it actually. It is my main reason for setting foot in the gym this week, but, Tuesday night was quite the hilarity and in my punch drunk state of mind, it occurred to me that racquetball is a lot like, *ahem* how do we say it "self-love."
Please, allow me to elaborate.
You see in self-love and in racquetball, there are quite a few similarities:
You can do it alone or with a partner(s).
But, if your partner doesn't know what they're doing, it might as well be an exercise in futility.
You can hit it hard or soft, fast or slow, but if you can't hit it right, you're just going to end up going aimlessly in circles.
Your focus and, usually your aim, is merely a spot on the wall.
Both can get rather hot and rather sweaty.
Both can leave you prone to wrist injuries and leave you with one arm stronger than the other.
The safety goggles they give you at the front desk? There's a reason. Oh yes, there IS a reason. There's really only one place that you can get hurt if you get hit. Yes, in the eye.
If you're not careful, there's always a chance of pulling a groin muscle.
It's such a simple concept, just hit it the right way, that it can make for hours, and hours, and hours of mindless fun.
Finally, the more you practice, well, the better you should get!
I weighed in today. I'm down 4 lbs. Slowly, but surely, something is working. It's not all curses, sweaty sports bras, and side cramps.
Wykoff Wednesday. Just when I thought we would remain on the grass in the shade doing plank push ups and tabletop crunches, she said "put your water in my backpack, we're running up Wykoff". I don't like Wykoff and it doesn't like me. "I don't wanna!!!" I wanted to yell, but I didn't. I just put my head down and looked at the ground and my feet. We had 10 minutes to get halfway up the hill all together before we would be disqualified and have to do it again.
Despite the sore muscles and the heaving in my chest, I made it up. Almost the last one, I found another asthma victim covered in tattoos crawling at a snail's pace. It's good not to be the most pathetic. Maybe it's the ink? It's like kryptonite for my stamina? Huh? Yeah? Good theory? No. Well, I tried.
Today just hurts and I just wanna cry. I wanna cry because it just shouldn't be this damn hard for me. Not at this age. I could cry, it would never show through the sunglasses. It would just look like more sweat pouring down my face.
But I'm almost halway through this month of bootcamp and I just won't give up. I won't. I can't. Five down, seven to go.
And PS, audience of the park today, I'm sorry about the large rip in the inner thigh of my stretchy pants. In the words of Nacho Libre: "Sometimes...we wear stretchy pants."
Monday early AM, I was comfortably in my usual chair at work putting in some overtime, I did not join my regular group of ladies in the park after dark. A day off? Noooo, how silly of you to even think that! Afternoon bootcamp...yes, the non-early risers. Not until 5am did I realize that the afternoon temperature on this fine September day was going to be 96*. Oh morning coolness, how bittersweet you are.
An hour of torture is much different at 5:30pm than it is at 4:45am. There is light, there is heat, there is an audience. My ever present photographer's eye caught the light in the park, through the trees, the leaves, how it made the grass glow, and all the sweaty skin tones look amazing. It was that magical hour before sunset when everyone should have their picture taken. Sunshine that just makes everything more beautiful.
Now don't get me wrong. Sunshine or not, the torture continued. The usual squats and lunges, the flys and the bicep curls, the duck walks and the bear crawls. WTF? Yeah, they looked and felt just a ridiculous as they sound. It was a beautiful, sweaty mess, BUT, there was FAR less running. Much, much less running. As the instruction said "I just can't make you run in this heat." Oh afternoon heat, you are so good, so good.
My new exercise routine is not just limited to para-military torture. It's been peppered with dog walking and racket ball playing at the "new" gym. I've turned into one of those women who spends at least 8 hours a day in a sports bra.
Tuesday's shorts were appropriate for the beginning of the day when the 97* was in full effect as I walked the dog and the Uncle around the park loop twice, but by the time the midnight racquetball invitation rolled around, after sweating through bootcamp and cleaning house in this Indian Summer, my shorts and my hair were not at the peak of the day. It was then that I came to my darkest realization as of recent: I was channeling my inner Richard Simmons.
The sports bra. The shorts. The sweaty, frizzy hair.
It's all downhilll from here.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
I almost have nothing left to give to you.
Post 12 hours of swing shift, pre one hour outdoor sweat fest, bootcamp, I wanna find yo mama and slap her for giving birth to you!!!
I was the first one there, only on account of just getting off work at 4 am and knowing that if I stayed in my kitchen killing any more time, I would either 1) fall asleep standing at the counter or b) fall asleep while eating oatmeal and choke to death.
As usual, the first order of the day to get that old ticker ticking which means, RUN, RUN like the wind ladies!!! (or fast walk she said), but I ran, (fast jogged maybe) nawwww....in my book, we call it running. I even managed to make it around the whole circle without feeling like the 4th of July was exploding out of my chest.
and then we got to it:
squat, lunge, reach for the sky, up, down, down to the ground, sideways, on your back, on your belly, stick that butt out like you're looking for a chair...we skied, we jumped rope, did some military thing...and then we did it again.
The sky was clear this morning and the moon was bright. Bright enough that I actually found myself squinting as I stared up at it, holding my hands behind my head and counting down crunches.
twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are
up above the world so high
like a diamond in the sky
twinkle, twinkle little star
how I wonder what you are...
I wish I may, I wish I might..
I wished on a star tonight.
I did, I made wishes. I made wishes that I can't tell you about. They say they wont come true if you say them out loud.
An hour seemed like eternity today, but there was determination in the air. One entire week. I made it...Monday, check, Wednesday, check, Friday, check. I'm 25% done and already a little better.
I made it home, dry, tired eyes pulled into the driveway and I closed them for a second while waiting for the garage door to open, and just like that, I think I fell asleep in that tiny pause.
It was work to reach and lift to get the blender, to open the protein powder, reach for the glass, but it had to be done.
I have a sweet, sexy love for all things coconut...say what?! Put the coconut oil in everything?! What is this glorious news? It's a good fat, that one that your heart needs, it burns faster and keeps your metabolism high. So you're telling me that it's an oil...that burns fat? You sexy coconutty thing, where have you been all my life?
Me, the coconut oil, my high protein dutch chocolate protein powder, it all went down the hatch with a couple of salmon oil pills for the inflammation creeping into my joints. I may qualify for a trip to Jiffy Lube after this, but not before I drag my sweaty carcass into a nice hot shower and limp my sore behind into bed to sleep and recover from this week.
I made it through week one. I wanted to give up, literally throw in the dirty, sweaty towel, but I stuck it out. Not just in bootcamp, but in everything this week.
I'm here and I survived... and I'm not as sore and beat up as I was. I'm maybe even a little bit stronger and I have a little more faith in myself(again)...my heart's beating and I'm still breathing.
Tomorrow is a new day and next week is a new week.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
8:40 pm the night before, listening to Party Rock! live and watching LMFAO in person, I got this text:
"Wycoff tomrw. Meet at street corner. Need mats only after we return from the walk run."
Wycoff? Why? Why? Whycoff!?
Wycoff is a hill, a paved street, that goes straight UP. The nice houses are on the hill with platforms that lead down to the houses that are perched on the side of the slope that we were going to conquer at 4....45....in the AM.
I got the text of when/where while in the belly of the beast, sweaty, spatially unaware teens with odor problems, leaking glitter and hormones. I couldn't wait for bootcamp after that!!!
4:45 came, and so did the listening to my lungs weep and wheeze out all the pathetic days of sitting on the couch and hitting the snooze button.
I didn't want to get out of bed this morning, I even tell you what compelled me to pull up my heavy legs again and lace up my shoes again.
Some small voice inside my head was louder than the moans and groans of my muscles, my core, and my left shoulder.
First one at the park in the dark, I waited in my car until more lined up behind me, and...then, no one got out, until the first person caved to the hour. I wont lie. It was me. I just wanted to start it so it could end.
Gathering on the corner, yawing and comparing uphill horror stories, the instructor asked where her runners were. Runners? Pssshawww! Uh huh. You crazy. I know this hill, we go way back, and we are not friends.
We started going up... and then came the breathing and the chanting and the self-talk..."its not asthma, its not asthma, its not asthma."
It got steeper, "imagine you're a mountain goat, Lauren, hoof it!"
"wait, what was that noise? Something is making noise in the grass! Keep going, just don't look."
"If Freddy was chasing me right now, I'd be dead...I literally could not run for my life. I could get slashed to death right here on this hill."
Watching ladies backsides as they huffed and puffed up the hill ahead of me, I started to run through the prearrival instructions from my emergency medical dispatch training:
Tightness in my chest, shortness of breath, the feeling that someone is snapping a rubber band on your sternum over and over again...heart attack? Could be, I've already ruled out he asthma.
Then I started to count steps, and imagine next summer and bikinis, this winter and leggings and hot boots, and yes, just wearing nothing at all and liking what stares back at me in the mirror when I get out of the shower.
On the downhill slope, I saw those familiar lights on the hills out in the distance. They looked like lighters in a crowd at a concert. Some of them were flickering, dotted across the hills that make this little valley I call home.
I've been up this hill a lot of times at night to clear my head...even with it being much easier behind the steering wheel, I could appreciate that I was able to linger a little longer and enjoy the view as I wandered back down.
Back in the tennis courts, minus the hand weights, I wondered what the duty belt looking thing was that was just laid at the end of my mat. Just bigger than a steering wheel with two padded grips it was called, wait for it, wait for it...the "magic circle"
You know what would really be magic? If I gave it a hard squeeze with these powerful inner thighs and it sent me back to my bed like I was being beamed up in an episode of star trek.
We did a lot of "magic" for the next 25 minutes
Squeezing it with our ankles while fake steering with my legs. The instruction in her sweet voice saying "its like a lazy Sunday, driving miss daisy."
Shit, I'd call shotgun if i was in that movie.
When we did the hip thing and all I thought of was that it's on my bucket list to look like Shakira. She's hot.
Sweating, cursing again at that streetlight from day one, I wondered if there was a possibility of getting moonburn?
arms. squats. pushups. half windmilll...
I'm not gonna lie...i can think of much better ways to work the inner thighs and it doesn't involve 14 other women and a tennis court. Ya picking up what I'm putting down? uuuhh hhhuuhh...
And then... it was over and I did it, once again. One more down, 10 more to go...
Monday, September 12, 2011
4am is meant for a lot of things: staying up, just getting in bed, activities that involve either pajamas or no clothes at all.
4am is not meant for other things: waking up, heating up oatmeal, finding your yoga pants in the garage laundry basket, letting the dog out cause she has diarrhea for the 5th time in 3 hours.
445am is meant for even less. Running around in the dark in a park you used to play in as a child with a group full of women you've never met and deer you hope wont spring its little Bambi self into you is not at the top of the 445 list.
445, we have been betrayed. This park and I are no strangers to exercise and fitness. High school tennis in the very court I was sitting in this morning. Round and round and round the jogging trail, year after year before I could even drink. The hopes and dreams we used to lay out on that track 10+ years ago. Oh, how things have changed.
I remember the old play structure that used to be there. I remember the rough beams that gave you splinters, the tire swing that swung a little to hard, and metal slide. The metal slide in the sun. That was before the ergonomic, fire retardant bark for little knees and the recycled plastic bottle slides that don't absorb heat.Metal slides. What genius thought that was an OK idea? What didn't sizzle got stuck on the hot metal and squeaked all.the.way.down...eek, eek, eek.
But back to the park this morning at 445. Why?
I signed up for an all ladies, out door, "adventure" bootcamp. 12 sessions. 4 weeks. "It's an adventure" says the website and it went like this:
run. run. run.
"OK, now run to the corner ladies!" peppy...how peppy it sounded echoing in that dark park this morning.
In the dim light of the early morning, I found a streetlight to focus on to dull the pain. I cursed it 487 times this morning. "Fuck you street light, I don't want to squat anymore!"
Working on my abs, I found shapes in the clouds in the moonlight to distract from the shaking muscles. Yes, the moon. It was full and it was bright and should have been shining on my roof while I laid in bed snoring. It smiled at me like it had been waiting up to laugh at me all night!!"Its a bunny. It's an apple. That one looks like a big boob." I'm not making it up, there were boobs in the clouds at 510am.
I ran again, then I jogged, I finally gasped for air. I walked. I jogged some more. Then I saw the grass. I wanted to lay in it. Face first. I didn't even care that the sprinklers were on.
"Way to go Lauren! I won't kill you on the first day, I promise!" said the instructor"Hit me in the back of the neck with a shovel and just put me out," I wanted to say back at her, but the words got stuck in what may be early on set congestive heart failure. Or asthma. I really think it could be asthma.
Covered in gravel pathway dust and sweat, squatting, I wished to be in hot yoga class sweating like a cold glass on a hot day. At least there, when the heat gets too much to bear, you can sit in child's pose with your face in your sweaty mat and your ass up in the air and no one thinks less of you.
My knees are going to hate me. My quads already do.
But...and there is a butt. As I prayed and wished and willed my heavy lunged, squatted, and curled legs to keep the pace up, and keep going one over the other, I thought about my booty and how good its gonna look in 4 weeks. Yeeaaah, buddy!
I thought about that new dress I got last week and those hot boots that go with it.
I thought about Vegas and the tiny hemlines and the tall platforms.
I thought about wearing nothing at all.
I thought about bathing suits. I thought about the annual lake day.
I thought about 5K's, marathons, warrior dash, and tough mudder.
I thought about the fact that my brother got up every.single.day for almost 5 months and put on his shoes and ran across this entire country. The entire country. On foot.
I thought about Catie whose body wont let her get up and Annie who might be able to run if she could see what was in front of her.
I thought about me and all the times I've just threw in the towel and went to bed.
Finally, I thought I can do this again.
And then...it was over.1 session down. 11 to go.
And...guess what? I can breath again. It's not asthma.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
All of it. On all fronts. I let my words die too. I bottled them all up inside. I stopped putting them here for the world to see.
This week needs to be in the history books already. My heart hurts in so many ways.
I've been home alone in MY house for just about one week. I hear the creaks and the squeaks and the tiny noises in all the tiny spaces. I hear them when they're louder than my own sounds of crying into my pillow at night. I just wish there was someone there to hold me. THAT sounds so sad. I know. I have to say it though. I have to see it in writing. There's a big gap in my life where there should be some big arms to crawl into at the end of a long day.
I came back from vacation and work ate my soul. It's been nibbling away, slowly eroding it, but two nights ago, it took a big ol' bite. The worst call of my career. All twenty two minutes of it. This will scar over in time, but it will always be there.
The constants that I've had from childhood washed away like a sandy foundation hit by a big storm. People change. Feelings fade. True colors come out. I heard someone say once that no one would ever have any friends if they knew what other people said about them when they weren't there.
I even loathe the pavement on the every day traveled streets in this little town that's been my whole life.
I have an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. My eyes are tired and swollen. My heart is tired.
I know today is a day reserved for reflecting back on "where were you when you found out?" and while I honor the events of that day and the lives lost, right now this moment is just for me.
10 years ago this day, I was awakened by my mother in the same house that just became mine today. I was just out of a relationship with someone that I had but geography made for us to let each other go. My heart hurt, my eyes would go on to be swollen from having so many images of terror and destruction flash before them for the next few days. I had a pit in my stomach like the rest of America. The interstate I travelled daily were e m p t y. It was eeerie as I took the twenty minute drive to the courthouse to drop of the morning paperwork. There was no one to be seen. I had far fewer scars 10 years ago and far more dreams & hopes.
Today, I am barley hanging on, but I'm still hanging in there.