And I thought I was a runner. These times blew me away. Especially since, when I was running in Ajax yesterday, it was freezing, windy, and I hated every second of it.
I was observing how, in the last few weeks, I haven't had runner's high in a while.
I miss it, and I can't seem to get back to having it; maybe the extreme summer heat was passing for runner's high, meanwhile I was in a dehydration-delirium.
I tell myself it will come back--and at least I continue to run anyway, without the expectation of it.
I think that in recent weeks, getting back into the (serious) fall groove at work, everyone around me very much forgetting that four shorts months ago, a member of my family of origin died, and the way that this time of year at work is not only busy, but short-handed alot of the time due to people being out with the flu, etc., and it adds up to very long days, lots of traffic-filled drives as hockey returns to Toronto, and many many other fall events fuel people to drive into the city.
Randomly, I've noticed sleep and running are the only two things that help create an obstacle for my anxiety (along with mind-numbing TV watching. Reading is good, too, but anxiety can still invade if the book it not interesting enough). And I don't know how it is that my body knows exactly when it is 4 am and knows exactly when it is Sunday night to Thursday night, and only wakes up at that time, on those five nights, much to my absolute frustration.
Last night I was in bed, out cold by 10:30 pm. I didn't even hear Mike calling me on my phone to say good night. And I wasn't even in bed, I was on the couch, hoping that a sleep venue change (like being at my mom's the night before) could trick my body. It didn't work. At 3:59 am I awoke, got up and moved to my bed, after taking 2 advil for an absolutely splitting headache.
So much for tricking myself.
Another thing for Monday, after my exhausted Friday post. Mike is not doing better.
He is bed-ridden right now, I am losing my mind, I truly am, because I am 1100 kms away and can do absolutely nothing to help him, with the exception of jumping on a plane and going to him. And, faithful, loving fiancee that I am, I looked up flights on line today: lowest going rate to
Boston, return, for this weekend: $ 700.oo odd dollars with taxes. Not even remotely do-able.
Not even remotely. So I'm stuck here, in the gray-wind-weather, waiting for news on how he's doing. And, as I mentioned, keeping in mind short-term memories, the thought of anything happening to anyone else I love right now is enough to make me climb the walls with terror, and this is where I'm at.
Mercifully, Monday at work flew by with all sorts of tasks that needed my attention, and that distracted me hugely. But here I am now, with no outlet and no way to mediate my feelings of missing, worrying, and general complete self-pity (the 'I'm so hard-done-by' thing. I hate feeling this way, by the way. I HATE IT. But I'm powerless to stop it. Until he gets to a doctor and I have some feeling that normal will return for him, I'm living in limbo.)
I want to write my way beautifully through this, but I may have to settle for reading, looking at great photographs, and zoning out on more Brit TV.
Anyway. Trying to commit to daily blogging, no matter what (sorrayyyy), and this is a testament to that. Lately, every day is a testament, lord help me.