La Tortura (pre-race)

One of these days, I’ll really buckle down and actually train for my races. Like, full on follow the schedule and eat right and not stress and have a cig or two the week before the big day. I’ll follow the plan all the way through the end and not stop training the last month like I always do. This would all be true if most half marathons were’t right in the middle of the fall semester.  Life, you guys.

So last year I ran my half in a total of 3:20:55. That’s a 15:20 pace. Less than ideal. I had the best running buddy who cheered me on and wouldn’t let me quit even after a dude racing dressed as a friggin’ dinosaur passed us. This year, I’m running alone. I’m half scared that I’m going to let my brain talk me into quitting halfway through and half excited to see how far I can push myself.

I stopped training altogether about a month ago. I’ve tried to get a run in here and there since then, but haven’t been able to run anything farther than a 5k due to time constraints. I stopped doing leg day because I didn’t want to risk being sore these last few days. But I have a plan. I’m going to do run/walk splits at 8/2 intervals all the way through. I think I can manage that the whole 13 miles without burning out and still make better time than last year. We’ll see how it goes. The race has a live app that lets people follow your progress and cheer you on, so I’ll be posting a link with my info because I know I’ll need all the cheers I can get.

My head’s already fucking with me and I’m thinking “it’s okay if you don’t go. you already paid anyway, so it’s not like you’d be wasting the money because it’s already done. you don’t need to do this to yourself. you can just walk all the way. enjoy the race!” But then I’m also like “nah, I have a damn 13.1 sticker on my truck. I can’t not run this. I’d be a total fake. a poser. no frickin’ way. you are doing this.” So I’m doing it. Y’all pray I don’t die, please <3.

Advertisements

Teeter tottering (or too much damns to give)

I am currently (as I have been “currently” for what seems like the past 6 months) teetering between “utterly enraged” and “fuck it all, I don’t care anymore”

I feel like I have this need, this duty, to speak out against all that is unfair and not right and just…just plain not fair. I have been in a constant state of anger since like, March of this year.

Shit pops up. People are appalled. They feel entitled to this or entitled to that, and it’s like, no, broski, slow your fucking roll.  If I have to (insert stupid compromise here), then you have to do the same.  Todos coludos o todos rabones.

But noooooo. So then it’s like, well shit, if they’re speaking out and standing up for their cause, I need to do the same because shit.needs.to.be.fair. y’all.

But then I’m like, fuck this. I don’t have time for this drama. Higher powers will do what they decide to be best anyway, so why does it matter if we scream, pout, and stomp write strongly, but politely, worded emails. But then at the same time I keep thinking “the squeaky wheel gets the oil” but I HATE being a squeaky wheel and I know that some people have plenty of time to just squeak squeak squeekety squeak.

So now here I sit writing a damn blog post rather than an email because I just don’t even know where to begin other than “Look, this wouldn’t be fair and I feel quite appalled, really, that someone would have the audacity to (insert selfish asshole behavior here)…” and that just doesn’t seem like a productive thing to do.

And what’s even worse is that I know someone will read and think “oh she’s talking about X thing going on” while another will read and think “oh she’s talking about Z thing going on” and really, I’m talking about all the things going on because that’s just how life is rolling right now.

So here I am angrily clacking away at my keyboard while I could be drafting emails or better yet, not giving a damn. Not caring is really hard, guys. Damn.

 

This entire post could’ve been a series of tweets.

Often I’ll think to myself “Self, you need more local friends.” But then I remember I also don’t really like people or socializing too much and then I’m okay again until the next big boxing fight or MMA match comes around at which point I have this whole conversation with myself again.

I turned 32 this month and had an epiphany yesterday. Well, not really an epiphany as much as a “you’ve been asking yourself this same question for over ten years already, woman. Just pay attention to yourself already.” And I am. And it’s going to be tough, but it’s going to be worth it because self-care and sanity are so.fucking.important.

Grad school is going well. It’s been weird. An adjustment for sure after having been out for five years, but I don’t think I’ve felt the full brunt of it yet. I’m sure I’ll be back here complaining about it in a month or two.

Running fucking blows. It’s also fucking amazing. It just depends on the day.

I injured myself sneezing the week after I turned 32. I still can’t mention that without laughing at myself like an idiot because wtf. Who does that? I do, apparently. At one point, it hurt so much I thought I had fractured a rib. But now I’m feeling better and I think it may have just been a pulled muscle. Either way, I can’t lie on my side or run for more than a minute without wincing in pain, and sometimes I have to stand and support my side while I’m teaching to prevent myself from screaming and scaring my students (again). But I think I’ll be ok.

Work has been laughably absurd and busy and hectic and just wtf-y. Something about knowing that my students will not be my students for the entire school year has kept me from fully bonding with any of them. I feel a degree of detachment. I care about every single one of them & I’m invested in their success, but it’s not the same as it has been previous years.

On that same note, the inner push to become a part of the change finally took fully over and I was thankfully voted in as a representative at our school’s SBDM committee. The committee’s purpose is to set procedures and activities that positively affect student performance. I’m excited about this.

I feel like I’m 32 and still trying to find my true self. My sense of who I am and what I like and don’t like. What I will tolerate and absolutely not stand. How to stand up for the things I believe in and be completely and utterly done with the things I don’t. How to be nice to myself and live my hapinness in spite of how that makes others feel. How to live for myself and not for others. To  love my kids and make sure they feel loved and safe and secure and confident while not turning them into entitled brats. To be ok with putting myself first and not feel guilty about it. To do things for me and not feel guilty about not wanting to share. Being a woman can be tough. Being a mother is tougher. Being a teacher is hard. Being a good mother/wife/daughter/granddaughter/teacher/employee/student is so painstakingly, exhaustingly, exasperatingly *hard*. But it’s worth it. I truly believe that. I’m just going to do everything on my terms.

 

P is for petty & D is for damn.

Not back with a decluttering update just yet. My living room is chock full of all the stuff I’m getting rid of at the yard sale this Friday.

I am, however, back with a whole bunch of petty. Shit, man. Seriously, if I acted on impulse I’d have no friends right now. The more time goes by this summer, the more I realize how much of a curmudgeon I am. I think there’s about a handful of people I can tolerate on my feed right now and the rest just cause me to roll my eyes like a surly teenager. I’m sure I’m just as obnoxious on there as most people I’m friends with, but fuck.

I went to watch “Girl’s Trip” with Mona on Monday. Great movie, you should watch it; it’s hilarious & the soundtrack alone is worth it. I felt a little pang of sadness?hurt?regret? because the girls I am the closest with don’t live in Brownsville and the others just fell off the face of the earth. I miss my friends, damnit.

I walk a constant line veering between “be yourself, say what you mean, screw whoever doesn’t like it” and “try to be nice to everyone, give people the benefit of the doubt, be compassionate.” But it’s hard, y’all. There’s only so much idiocy you can take, so much two-facedness you can tolerate, and so much crap you can put up with. It’s tough. Is there middle ground between my two options? Well sure, but then I feel like I’m being fake and I have a problem with that too, but I guess it’s better than blurting out whatever comes to mind when I think someone is being a bitch or an asshole, no? Still haven’t perfected my poker face, so I guess my smirks, eye rolls, and other facial expressions will keep outing what I’m really thinking. And I wonder why I don’t have close friends…lol. But seriously.

Letting go…sort of

I grew up attaching sentimental value to material things. I was the kid who never used her stickers because what would happen if I found the perfect place and occasion to use that super duper cool Lisa Frank rainbow colored cheetah sticker and I had already stupidly used it on a notebook? I mean, who put stickers on paper, right?! Stickers were meant to be saved and used only for super special occasions on super special things. So when I was a teen I had boxes full of stickers that no longer stuck because the glue had finally given up after all those years.

When I was a teen, I had this one t-shirt that was just awful. It was a white tee with a story printed on it about mice. It was on a background that had some mid-century art on a rolled-out scroll. It was weird. It made people stop and try to read the story which made me feel super awkward because it was on my chest, after all. But my grandpa bought me the shirt and so I associated it with him and donating it felt like I was being unappreciative and like I didn’t love him. I did the same thing with letters from friends and pretty much anything my mom, grandma, or grandpa ever bought me.

Needless to say, this translated into my adult life and I hung on to pretty much everything because you never knew when something would come in handy. Hence my three boxes worth of shopping bags my husband pulled out of my apartment when we moved into our house. My grandma always had a thing about keeping the good shopping bags (you know, the ones made out of thick plastic with sturdy handles), so I guess that stuck with me and I just kept accumulating bags and more bags because doing so always reminded me of my grandma.

I slowly started to learn that letting go of things didn’t erase memories, but old habits die hard. Five years in this house and you’d be hard pressed to find evidence that I was still a bit of a hoarder, but if you dug in the cabinets under the sink or the bottom of the pantry or the depths of my closet, you’d find bits and pieces of things that seem like meaningless odds and ends, but somehow remind me of something my grandma once said or something she’d keep.

As I typed this post, I realized that this is not where this post was supposed to go. I was going to tell you all about my decluttering adventures, and how freeing it’s been, but instead it became a trip down memory lane and a sort of introspection. It kind of brought up all kinds of happy feelings, so I’m just going to leave it here for a rainy day when I need a bag and can’t find one because I’ve finally let go of the habit. ❤

 

 

JuneJitterbug Exhaustion

June is basically a month-long celebration of birthdays, graduations, and other party-worthy events. I think there’s one week where we have a family birthday every single day. Elliah’s birthday is on the 15th, then just 15 days later we have my husband’s birthday, and in between that, we have Father’s Day.

Parties! People! Family! Cake! Every extroverts dream!

But for me? The month leaves me emotionally and mentally drained. I love family. I love my people. But I need time to recharge in order to function. How does one find alone time in family home of 6? One doesn’t.

This week alone I had graduation, we celebrated Grandpa’s birthday, Tia Grace’s birthday, Tia Martha’s birthday, Elliah’s birthday, and Father’s Day.

Which is why today is almost sacred to me. The girls are at daycare, my husband is at work, Caleb is at his dad’s, and Monika is sleeping and watching movies, which gives me the silence and solitude I so desperately need to recharge and be able to function like a normal human being.

Most people don’t get that.  It’s not the work that goes into throwing a party or the walking back and forth in heels keeping kids in line at graduation or teaching summer school after a hectic year that exhausts me. It’s the constant having to be present and talking and listening and being around other people that is utterly draining.

So today I rest and I relax and I sit still and in silence and recharge to deal with tomorrow. ❤

4d443f1f4cbebf90fa86054faef8042e--introvert-quotes-introvert-problems

 

Sometimes

Sometimes, you just want to say “fuck decorum” and just put it all out there because it’s therapeutic.  Because blasting people that need to be blasted eases my mind and soothes my soul.

But doing so would be in poor taste and would cause more harm than good and in the end would do nothing more than make me feel better for a few minutes and then I’d go back to being miserable because venting about something helps, but it doesn’t make the problem go away.

So thank goodness for sisterly bonds and LDRs and people who get it and don’t judge.  All my love to you, babe.

Sometimes, you just need to focus on the good like grad school applications and having completed my education and being thankful that I have a career AND a great ass & I’m not stuck at some dead-end job with no diploma.

Sometimes, you just have to channel your frustrations and let them be your motivation to do better, try harder, go stronger.  You have to take that next step that will get you where you want to be.  Be it running a half marathon or finally getting a master’s degree or simply learning to let go of old demons.

Sometimes, you just need to remember to breathe.