Average days go by fast.
So does my heartbeat, resting (90 beats per minute?? I'm a RUNNER!?) when I try to sleep at night, unaided.
As in, my lifetime, each birthday seeming to approach with lightning quickness as the years pile up.
I've been impatient lately, trying to get it all done, at once, put it all in order and behind me. But life isn't ready to let things be that simple (yet).
I still find that each path contains roadblocks, usually consisting of dull people, clocks ticking slowly, waiting for things to be completed.
It must also be said that I am on a mission at work. It gets this way before I take a vacation.
Deadlines in my line of work are legendary, those decorating shows give glimpses of how stressful it can be, but in real life, there are also revisions to be made, situations to fix on the fly, and meetings. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings.
And I still forget things, and I still despise being rushed when I need to think slowly.
So, vacation countdown.
My last vacation (Christmas, illness, a complete knock-down) was pretty much a bust.
I'm counting on the upcoming one to fill me with hope again, that life is not just what it has shown me lately--that there are things to look forward to, plans to be made, that something good is around the corner.
The weekends have been packed, lately, with plans, and as I've mentioned before, I long for more solitude than I've been getting. However, as I chart and study my anxiety, I do recognize that all the time I spend in my head contributes to all sorts of crazy thoughts, and worries, and wasted thinking.
I've been running tonnes. It's one of the few activities I can lose myself in, and 10km is no longer enough. Yesterday I finally broke through some sort of mind/body barrier, and there I was, at one-hundred-and-five minutes, completing 11 miles (appx. 17 km). As in, a 9-minute mile. I know--in some circles nothing to write home about, but for me, with my little legs, small build, and this nagging blister on my right foot, it was like climbing Mount Everest. I ran from my place to east of Wineva on Queen Street (yes, nice and flat), then home through the trail on the beach, then onto Eastern Avenue. As I was recounting to my sister, relaxing in her backyard last night, almost the whole time on Eastern (from Leslie west to Broadview) I left my body. Running was easier than walking at that point. I didn't even want water anymore. After not eating enough calories, meeting my mom for some shopping, hanging with my sister, I was asleep at 10:30, thoroughly exhausted, but awake at 3am, stressing about an early meeting with a new client.
It was an average Monday (normal day...let me be aware).... and as I have on all the previous Mondays since Monday June 13th, a little sadness visits me at 3pm. I feel distracted at that time. I push on with work, I make a Monday night on-my-own-plan, and I get better.
I get home from work, walk to the store, get caught in the rain. All that simple life stuff. I roast a chicken, eat some of it, with rice and with vegetables. I read another book (I've been reading volumes). I put the tv on in the background. I paint my nails with clear coat. I talk to my mom, listen to her regale me with stories of how my aunt and/or cousin are calling her again. And when she doesn't answer, they don't leave messages. I guess their shame precludes message leaving.
Yes. I'm still harbouring anger. And no, I don't think that it's unwarranted. Either talk to my mother, eat some crow, and admit that your behaviour was nothing short of scandalous, or don't make the call, don't leave the message, and while you're at it, fuck right off.
My mother mused on the phone tonight as to why they don't call my sister or me. I told her, point-blank, why that is. Because my sister and I have a wonderful talent-it's called speaking our minds when it's called for, and it also involves a little line from a favourite Elton John song:
"It's a habit of mine, I don't get pushed around".
I'll leave it at that for now.
Truth be told, there's spirit at work with this too. I know my Dad would not want this, but he would also not want my mom, sister, or me, to suffer needlessly anymore than we already have, making excuses for, and emotionally accomodating more than we really had to.
For work and music on my ipod and shopping and running and getting caught in the rain.
All that simple life stuff.