Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Rare Bad Day

Today was pretty much the worst day ever, and for no apparent reason.  I told Z I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but he didn't understand the expression.  Apparently no one had explained it to him prior to today.  Personally I think it was the Four Loko I drank last night.  It was a bad choice.  One of my many bad choices.

Regardless of my lack of motivation, I knew I'd be really unhappy with myself if I didn't force myself to go running.  So I did.  I went to my parents house, watched the kids run through the sprinklers and sat and ate lunch with them.  When Z and I left the backyard, the first thing Phoenix did was leap over the creek so he could run back and forth and bark at Bella, his old girlfriend.  When he leapt back over the creek, he ran and jumped full force on me and scratched up my leg.  Then when we got to the park, I saw a person up ahead so I put Phoenix on the leash, but he went NUTSO because he wanted to see the other dog, and it took us awhile to get past them.  Once we get past other people with dogs, I can always let Phoenix off the leash because by then he's forgotten about them, but not this time.  He ran right back and I think maybe he thought the other dog was a squirrel or a cat or something because he went full force at it, and scared the shit out of the owner.  That's when I knew it was going to be a tough run.  That was pretty much it for his bad behavior, but my leg started hurting almost right away.  I really wanted to try for four miles today, but there was no way we were going to make it that far, and I was already in a shitty mood.

When we got back, Z had to go down for his nap, and I sat and iced my leg for a few minutes.  Then I took my dad to go fill up a propane tank and put some gas in my car.  I made a comment about how closely the guy behind me was following me, and I was trying to maneuver into the spot next to the gas pump and my dad said that the guy didn't expect me to do something so stupid.  I had to pull into that spot because of the location of the gas tank on my car, and it really annoyed me that he made a comment like that when I was doing him a BIG favor by getting the propane tank filled.

We got back home and I tried to find some food I could bring home to cook myself for dinner because I couldn't stay there for dinner tonight since my asshole sister would be home from work and there's no way I will suffer myself being around her under any circumstances.  I grabbed some pasta and some frozen chicken.

When I got home, I went right to sleep.  I was really hoping that I could maybe sleep off the bad mood and maybe attempt a start-over.  I got a couple of phone calls from my parents that I chose not to answer.  I got up and made myself dinner - sauteed the chicken with some garlic and pepper and rosemary and boiled the pasta and added some artichoke hearts to it and ate it all together.  It was really good.

I just called my parents back to find out why they'd called earlier.  Apparently my dad was getting ready to leave to pick my sister up from work and tripped over his scooter and ripped his big toenail off.  They'd called me to see if I'd come over to help with the kids while my mom drove to get my sister.

I just want to cry with the frustration I feel.  Between my parents having to drive my goddamn sister back and forth to work every goddamn day, and having to be the guardians of the kids while she works her $4/hour job, and the ridiculously poor timing of my dad being immobile and his incredible ignorance of his extremities (not just now because he's in a cast, but ALL THE TIME) and how much more unnecessary pressure that puts on everyone else, I want to scream and pull my hair out.  Why, oh why, can't things be easy?  Every time my dad trips and falls, he gets seriously injured.  Literally.  He once fell on the side of the house and trying to catch himself he tore his rotator cuff.  He fell off his bike and shattered his wrist and had to have surgery.  He once tripped on one of my little sister's toys in the middle of the night and woke the entire house up with his wailing in pain.  He permanently dented his leg from falling on a doll-cradle he himself made.  It is his clumsiness that puts extra pressure on the whole situation.

Tomorrow morning, I agreed to let him use my car as needed.  I'm going over there before work, picking him up, and he's driving me to work, then he has a doctor's appointment.  I'm getting a ride home from work from my mom.

I'm so frustrated I don't even think I can cry.  I've given myself a little pass on my over-emotional embargo so that if I need to cry, I can.  But I haven't cried yet.

I'm also ridiculously frustrated that I can't run the way I want to.  I want to be able to run miles and miles without being in pain.  I'm tired of worrying about whether or not there will be long-term effects if I overdo it one day.   I hate that the tendons in my leg began hurting almost immediately after I started running today.  I hate that running doesn't feel like it's getting any easier, either.  I get just as tired running two miles as I was on my first run after not running for months and months.  I want to be able to push myself and challenge myself and be proud of myself for being able to run a faster mile or being able to run more miles.  I tried to console myself with the excuse that my body just isn't built for running distance, but even that makes me mad.  It's not fair.  The one time in my life that I want to run miles and miles and I can't fucking do it.  Even when I tried doing cross-country in high school, I couldn't run the 8 miles with everyone else, and I couldn't keep up with the timed run around Ketner Lake.  It's just never been something I could do.  But I hate it.  I want to be able to change that.  If I had insurance, or any money, I could go to the doctor and have the surgeries and physical therapy I need to be able to run without the pain, at least for awhile.  But I don't, so I can't.  All I can do is try to buy the right kinds of shoes and do the right stretches so that I don't do any more damage than has already been done.

I think I am just mad today.  Mad at the world.  Mad at the unfairness of it all.  Mad that I can't just live my own life outside of my family without feeling immeasurable guilt over it.  Mad that I have to suffer and my parents have to suffer, financially and emotionally, because of my batshit-crazy sister's stupid and irresponsible choices and her selfishness.  Mad that my body is such a fucking mess and that there's not a thing I can do about it.  Mad that I'm trying SO FUCKING HARD to create a better reality for myself but I'm running into obstacle after obstacle and it's like I'm not supposed to be happy, even though that is the only thing that I really, truly want.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to be happy and independent and responsible when there isn't one thing that is available to me to help me survive?  I think that's an exaggeration, but that's how it feels.  I feel like all the effort that I'm putting into trying to get healthy and happy is being SUCKED out of me by circumstances that are outside of my control.

I am trying.  I am trying harder than I have ever tried.  I was thinking about it when I was waiting at the airport, about how easy it would be for me to just let go, and let my unhappiness and inability to control anything just wash over me and live with it that way.  It would be really super easy.  But generally, the thing that is the easiest is not always the thing that is correct.

I'm hoping I can wake up in the morning and feel all better, after having shed a few tears (yup, crying right now!) and slept and poured all these thoughts out of my head and just start over new tomorrow.  I'm still optimistic.  I still plan on trying to figure out how to keep running and keep working out because I really like how I feel like I do have some control over something, even though it might not actually be the case.

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