It’s Bad, It’s Bad, You know it.

So, Spamela is becoming increasingly helpful. Tonight, along with pushing prescription drugs without the prescription (which is not technically legal), Spamela has warned me of the dangers of drug overdose. Thank you, Spamela. Does that cover your hide in some obscure way? In case you get sued? Because what if I were famous, like say, Michael Jackson. And I took too many of the drugs that you are so eager to sell to me. And then I died. What if?

So, Michael Jackson died. Does this really surprise anyone? Didn’t we mourn losing him years ago when his antics got more and more ridiculous and his face more skeletal? Did we merely take comfort that he was still around and maybe someday he would make a comeback and thrill us again? Did we? Because I didn’t. But, then, perhaps I don’t count because I never was a huge fan. I lived a sheltered life and didn’t even know that there was a cool dance to Thriller. I didn’t even see the video until last year. I know. I’m weird. But compared to some people: so normal.

Mostly, I just felt sorry for him. And now sorry for his family.

And I really never want to be famous. Not like that at all.

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Seven stitches–not in my side from laughing either.

So, I should know this. I do know this. But somehow this doesn’t stop me from making the same mistake.

It doesn’t pay to be in a hurry.

When I’m hurrying to clean the kitchen, I usually spill something and it takes me ten times longer to clean.

When I hurry on the freeway, I get a ticket and then I’m just that much later. (Disclaimer, I have yet to get a ticket, but in theory this works.)

So, when I was watering the garden because my little guy missed watering the corn and I didn’t want it to wither while we were away, I should have known better than to hurry. But everyone was ready. And the kids were in the car. And Tina and I had everything ready to go and we meant to have left an hour before, so when I saw the dry ground around the corn I had to water it.

Is there ever really a GOOD way to get stitches? Aren’t they all pretty much silly or thoughtless mistakes that we make? Or downright embarrassing?

When I was in Kindergarten, I spun around in a circle and yelled “Wonder Woman!” as I made myself ridiculously dizzy and fell over onto a broken vase by the side of the rode.

Seven stitches in my thumb.  I still have the scars.

So, Thursday I was wildly watering the garden. I was dressed in my favorite jeans. And feeling very frustrated that watering takes so long. So, I turned the water up full blast and then I started to get muddy and wet. And then I noticed that the water was pooling around me and I didn’t want to step in the mud that is like quicksand.

So, I tried to step over the plow thing that attaches to the tractor and stay on dry ground. And then the soft dirt gave way and I fell backwards or forwards–it’s all a blur.

Over the tractor thing.

And caught my leg on a rusty piece of steel.

It was blood and gut folks. (I would post a pic, but it is not a pretty sight. Gruesome.)

And seven stitches, which may not be my lucky number after all.

And a tetanus shot.

But, it had a whooping cough booster combined, so I guess I should feel better about it.

And the nurse was a really nice old lady that called me cute. And the doctor was cute and told me that even a plastic surgeon couldn’t have done a better job on my jagged puncture wound. And that should make me feel better, too.

And Tina was a saint for driving me and all the kids around to the clinic and waiting patiently while I was getting stitched up.

Tina knows better than to hurry. She is patient and cheerful. I needed her on Thursday.

So, the bad thing is that, besides a jagged scar, I have a bruise larger than a softball on the back of my leg.

And the worst thing is that I can’t run for a couple of weeks.

And the good thing (besides getting to lie around for a couple of days) is that I didn’t tear my favorite jeans.

Because, good jeans are hard to find.

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Going the Extra Mile . . . In the Rain

I ran in the rain today.

It felt good. Not a I-am-so-happy-go-lucky-and-life-is-dandy type of good. But an angsty bring-it-on type of good.  The cool air soothed my frustrations and the drops of rain pelting my skin brought needed distraction.

I’m not really angry. It’s just that every once in a while everything builds up and I need to work it off. Anger is my secondary emotion to anything negative. So, today I ran. About a mile into it, the rain stopped. I didn’t. I ran harder. I pounded out every frustration I could think of.

• My friends are at a writer’s conference, probably signing book deals even as we speak, er, type. How will I deal with my close writer friends getting published before I do? How will I keep the green-eyed monster at bay?

• I sent my first few chapters to a great friend for critiquing. She is awesome. She totally kicked my trash. How will I fix my own manuscript?  How? How? How? (Those very words pounded in my head in time to my feet pounding the pavement, er, asphalt.)

• My husband has been self-employed since September. How do I clear the tiny nagging doubt of what if?
• Doubt can be a constant friend. Don’t let it fool you, it’s your worst enemy.

So, I took all that doubt and anger and frustration and I put it where in belongs. Trodden under-foot and left behind.

And then the rain started again. I had only a mile left to go. I felt good–the clean, refreshed everything-is-going-to-be-okay kind of good.

I choose to be happy for my writer friends. I refuse to be envious.

As far as my novel goes. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. I just have to reach for the outstretched hand.

And as for my husband, well, we are meeting all of our needs and then some. Worry won’t change a thing.

And as bonus material, I realized more fully why the human body  is God’s greatest creation.

And now for what I really planned on blogging about:

Blogging is a funny thing. It does strange things to your brain. For instance: today when I ran I thought, “Today I ran in the rain.” I didn’t think, “I am running in the rain.” You see, I start to see my life in past tense. I start to see my life as a potential blogpost. Weird. Now, onto the subject at hand: the extra mile.

So, when I was a little girl in Sunday School class, I was taught to “go the extra mile.” I don’t think I understood what that meant. We would sing the song, “Sing your way home at the close of the day, sing your way home, drive the shadows away, smile every MILE . . .” I thought that was perhaps how you went the extra mile. By walking home the long way, or something. I see now, that I was closer than I realized.

Now I’ve learned that going the extra mile, means to put extra effort into everything you do. Do more than is expected.

Today while I was running, I saw that very clearly.

My house sits on what I call, “the big block.” It is 1.8 miles around. Close enough to being two miles that I’m tempted to round. So, let’s say, I wanted to run two miles and I figured that 1.8 is close enough. And, admittedly it is very close.

But, what if I was getting better at running and getting stronger and was ready to go farther. I normally go around twice. Do the math. That is 3.6 miles. Which is not very close to four. Today, I went around three times. That’s not six miles, but only 5.4. That would round down to five, not up to six.

My point being, that the farther you go, the more obvious the deficit is.

However, let’s say, I wanted to run 2 miles and I found a course that was 2.2 miles. If I worked up to running around it three times, I’m ahead! I’ve gone 6.6 instead of the 5.4 of the earlier track.

(Is this making any sense? Because it all make sense to me as I wrote this blog in my head while I ran in the rain.)

So, what if I cut corners in my writing. What if I tell myself that this plot or this character, is “close enough” to where they could be? As time goes on, there will be problems.  The small gap will become a gaping plot hole, and the weakness in construction will result in paper doll characters. And I’ll have to go back, and do it the right way. I’ll wish that I had put in the extra effort to make it all tight and whole in the first place.

Granted, sometimes even when we are doing our very best and more, we still have plot holes and flat characters, but at least we can feel good about doing our very best.

So, today I rain in the rain. And I learned a lot.

The end.

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Chasing Shadows

So, I promise this is not going to be come a runners blog. Only a little, because, well, I run. I’m actually getting faster, almost to the point where I am actually running and not doing a wog (walk jog.) I’m still really slow, though.

So, when I graduated from the treadmill and started to run out-of-doors, I felt a little self-conscious. I mean, I ran around my neighborhood and who wants their neighbors to see them running (or wogging) by with their fat jiggling. Or with sweat dripping off them like they’d just landed head first into a mud puddle. Warning: Please do not try to picture these disturbing images in your mind. Kindly move along to my next thoughts.

So, I was a newby runner and that’s when I made a big mistake. I wondered what I looked like when I ran. Okay, that’s not the mistake. The mistake was that I looked at the ground at my shadow to see what I looked like when I ran. Why was this a mistake?

1. My shadow has a very skinny head and very fat ankles.

2. My shadow cannot lift its legs off the ground. It must have something to do with the angle of the sun. Not with me.

3. My shadow runs like a freak. (Not to be rude. Just honest.) My shadow looks like it is running away from an asylum.

Can you imagine with me the horror I felt when I  imagined that I resembled this shadow, this extension of me, if you will.

I almost ran back to my basement. To my beloved treadmill, where I can run without the world gazing on in wonder (or pity).

But running outside was much more interesting. So, I tried to run without looking at my shadow. And I got over it, sorta. (Who cares what I look like when I run, because I’ve lost 10 pounds now from running. TEN. Pounds. People. So, if I look good in my jeans and bad when I run, who cares?)

Anyway, I came to a realization this morning when I again made the mistake of looking at my shadow as I ran. My shadow is distorted. The morning sun is at an odd angle. And my shadow doesn’t seem to be going anywhere because it’s always with me. It takes every step I take and never seems to move forward at all.

So the realization was that I need to stop looking at my shadow and look at the big picture. Look how far I had run (almost four miles) and look how far I had to go (I was almost to my goal.).

Then, I thought of my writing. Sometimes my writing is distorted and weird to me. Sometimes I’m afraid of other people seeing it and I’m tempted to hide it in the basement of my laptop. That’s when I need to look at the big picture. Look at far I have come. I have improved immensely in the past three years. I’ve made wonderful friends, published an essay and even if I’m slow, I’m steadily moving forward. I don’t know how close or how far my destination is, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll make it.

Even with a freaky shadow.

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On a High Wire

Why is it that I feel like my life is like a balancing act? Only I’m on a unicycle high above a skeptical crowd and I have dishes in one hand and homework in the other. And ten hundred things are circling in the air above me and I must catch them soon. I must catch them and toss them quickly and accurately back up so that it doesn’t all come tumbling down.

I hate it when I feel that way. And hate is a strong word.

I’m getting off. I’m taking my computer going to the clown car. Sure it’s crowded, but there are no expectcations.

Better than a pie in the face.

Random thoughts from the clown car:

I’ve been getting more spam. Some of it is helpful. It tells me where to get cheep drugs. Also, it tells me things like, great post! and I guess spamela’s compliments should make me feel good. That’s better than drugs, cause that is the real thing (a natural high), which I think is counter productive for the drug people.

I also get advice, like turn left on the corner, and that’s good because it’s hard to see out of the clown car.

Also, spamela tells me that my blog is good, but I could make it better. I don’t like to hear things like that. Don’t you think I’m aware of that, spamela!!!

Now I’m getting spam in Spanish. Wow. That is flattering.

I must leave the clown car now and go and juggle some dinner, and homework, and dishes, and  . . . and . . . and . . .

Maybe I’ll fry some spam for dinner. Good thinking.

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