slowwwww

It's late, and I'm distracted by 703 things, so here's a haiku about going out to dinner with Charrow's parents at an upscale Indian restaurant in the east 50's with glacial table service:

Minutes ticked by while
Volume rose and Patience ran
away with the Spoon.

picture: collection of seedlings and other plants seen while visiting a friend's parents' in Vermont (selected because I'm ready for some GREEN around here), June 2014, film, Canon Tlb 

the hermit strategy

Another day of sneezing and aching. I'm just sick enough to feel cranky and pathetic, but not sick enough to keep me out of the park in the morning. I did skip a Superbowl invitation in the interest of sleep and avoiding junk food. It's amazing how much I crave it when I'm sick, but that's exactly the time I shouldn't eat it. So I stayed home with that snoring dog of ours to eat my lentils and squash while watching Friday Night Lights, and when I'm done writing this, I'm going to go to bed at an unreasonably early time. For now, here's today's exercise about that silly dog, written from his point of view:

wistfully sniffing
at greasy, crumpled bags, wait!
I need that squirrel!

top picture: a happy dog rolling in the park (little hard to see, but it's the black blob in the middle), Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY, today, iPhone 5

bottom picture: the squirrel hunter sniffing around the picnic area where the giant trees live, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY, today, iPhone 5

under pressure

Well I have emerged from the dentist with most of my mental faculties in tact. I lost a few during the numbing procedure and then a few more while the chunks of old filling were flying around as the drill jackhammered into my tooth. The dentist described the numbing process as this amazing thing that I should love because it would be even more localized than the traditional method, but he said the words "place the need in the hole between your tooth and gum" and my elbows started sweating. The verdict? I'd rather not be able to feel half of my face than have that kind of injection again. Well really it was 3 "injections" that lasted over the course of 4 minutes rather than the quick one or two usual jabs that render your entire check numb. I suppose this holey method might be more effective because I usually have trouble with the numbing agent not working very well, and there was very little physical discomfort during the actual procedure. Just all that mental horror as the instruments went over my face from the assistant to the dentist and then into my mouth for who knows what purpose. I can never decide whether it's better to close my eyes the whole time or to see the tool and try to guess its purpose in order to steel myself against whatever it might feel like. And the pressure. Dear god the pressure and the drilling noise make me sick to my stomach. While I was waiting for the doctor, I actually worked out a puking plan in the event that I lost my shit (use the paper bib because there was no sink within reach). I don't know why I did this because I'm not a puker, but it passed the time.

I'm sure if you asked the dentist about my anxiety level he would have said 3 or 4 out of 10 because that's about how I seem most of the time. In reality it hovered around an 8. I'm basing this guess on the fact that he was poised with drill in hand without having asked me if I wanted the laughing gas or noise-cancelling headphones we spoke about the week before. So I had to ask about them myself, which required him to take out the bits of cotton he had put in my mouth and leave the room to get the necessary supplies. I ended up not getting the laughing gas, partially because I felt like too much of a weenie to ask for it. My default "don't let them see you sweat" setting overrode the whole reason I went to this dentist in the first place: the drugs. Maybe next time. Now for the short version:

felt like a toolbox
sticking out of my mouth while
my knuckles turned white

//

fought the urge to slap
his hands away from my mouth
and head for the hills

picture: where I would rather have been this afternoon - the Blue Ridge Parkway, somewhere between Boone, NC and the Virginia border (I think), July 2014, film, Canon Tlb 

crusty

I went for a walk in the park this morning while Charrow did our usual Saturday long run. I thought it would be better than staying home and molding in the apartment, especially given the sunshine. I know it was the best choice, but it made me so cranky because I couldn't appreciate the activity. All those damn runners kept trotting past me, and it was all I could do to resist the urge to pick up speed. I'm sure at some point there will be circumstances that make walking my only option, but right now it feels like watching a movie in slow motion. Be where you are, observe the moment, blah blah blah. Easier said than done when it feels like less of a choice. But I did my best. Listened to This American Life and watched the birds, silently critiqued runners' forms and imagined little things about the people around me or daydreamed about things in my own life. I'm happy to have been outside on a beautiful day (although dressing for walking is different than dressing for running and I was cold the whole time), but I still feel mentally itchy, sluggish, and mopey. And now, a short version of the exact same thing I've been whining about all week (I promise I will write about something else tomorrow):

sometimes the hardest
thing to do is wait until
you can run again

//

patches of muddy
ground show through the snowy crust
watch out for the poop!*

*because sometimes the dog poops sinks below the surface of the snow, and you just can't find it before your hand gets too cold. I also think people become lazier in bad weather, so whenever there's a big snow melt, there are little sodden logs of poo all over the sidewalks.

picture: another view from the listening tower at Teufelsberg, Berlin, Germany, September 2010, film, Canon Tlb 

going nowhere

What a ridiculous day it's been. Here's a little taste, complete with run-on sentences: A friend from work has a second job in a private practice, which used to be located in the same office as our clinic (it's complicated). The private practice recently moved to a building down the block. Convenient for our friendship! But our usual in-between-clients merriment (or venting) now involves a commute. We hung out in her new space during a 35 minute lull, and I saved about 10 minutes for transportation time. It's literally 1/3 of the way down the block, so a 4 minute walk at most and then 2 elevator rides, both coincidentally to/from the 8th floor. No big deal, right? Until the elevator takes 4 minutes to arrive because only 1 of them is working, and then it goes up instead of down, and then on the way down it stops at every floor. In lieu of cursing the whole ride down or continuing to panic, I got out at the 7th floor and ran down 7 flights of stairs. Then I ran over to the clinic building and nearly cheered out loud when the elevator came almost immediately because it is notoriously slow. Running, by the way, was a huge mistake. The pain I experienced confirms that my busted tailbone is very much still busted. Lucky for me this same friend also has a sensitive rear and let me borrow her "infinity cushion" aka donut until my very own donut arrives in the mail. Ah the joys of butt pain. And now for the short form:

waiting for my ride
tick tock is all i hear til
ding! on every floor

picture: the doors to the elevator shaft on one of the abandoned listening towers at Teufelsburg, outside of Berlin, Germany, September 2010, film, Canon Tlb 

walk this way

I have the exercise memory of a goldfish. Worse: a gnat. I don't really know what kind of memory gnats even have, but if it's anything like their purported attention spans, then it's an accurate comparison. All of that to say, I am feeling antsy and annoyed at my current running moratorium thanks to my fancy free decision from yesterday. I went for a walk to our food coop this morning to get some fresh air and every step hurt, especially ones that involved any quick movements (e.g., trying to avoid giant ankle-sucking pools of brown slush). So it doesn't look there will be any running in my immediate future. As I've been told by several people, this will get better (thanks for the reminders). I just have to avoid driving Charrow crazy in the meantime with the whining and the constant favors (bending over to pick things up causes the most discomfort, even when done with proper form). It already feels like I haven't run in weeks, which is ridiculous because it's been 3 DAYS. Apparently I live in an exercise time warp. Here's a short take on what it's like to go through the subway system when you're in pain, but there's nothing apparently wrong with your body. People get so huffy! And I'm often one of them. oops.

i want to carry
a sign that says don't assume
you know why i'm slow*

*this is something I am guilty of all the time: seeing someone ambling for no apparent reason and assuming they are self-centered assholes when in fact I have absolutely no idea what they might be dealing with.

picture: view from an S-Bahn platform, Berlin, Germany, October 2010, film, Canon Tlb 

hurry up and wait

Well, the sidewalks are covered in salt and people have swarmed the grocery stores, or so I've been told because I avoided the madness. We had dinner with our downstairs friend, which makes two nights a row of socializing. That's basically my quota for the month, so I'm going to get straight to the haiku about this evenings commute, and then it's faceplant city (aka crazy friday night bed time).

she strolled downstairs hunched
over her phone playing games*
i almost kicked her

*really it was 1 game, but pluralizing is a trick to cut out the syllable for the article. instead of kicking her, I said "seriously" in my supremely pissy tone because she was taking up half the staircase in the middle of Friday evening rush hour. Fine, be a phone zombie and enjoy yourself, but MOVE OVER.

picture: stairs of a brownstone somewhere in Park Slope, Brooklyn, NY, summer 2012, film, Canon Tlb 

naval gazing

I'm tending to the animal farm alone this evening. You wouldn't think feeding two cats, walking a dog, and doing the dishes would take all that long, but it adds up. It's nights like this when I wonder why push the streak? Why not just finish that episode of friday night lights (for the second time), muddle through the necessities, and go to bed? You might be wondering the same thing given the high quality of this writing! There's something energizing and challenging about doing something for a month. It's uncomfortable, and it requires sacrifice, but the end is within spitting distance. Committing to something for a year requires more endurance and reliance on muscle memory, much like all those marathons we've run. It also requires fighting off the who-really-cares-about-this and the what-good-is-this-anyway feeling and all the other doubts that come along with doing a thing without being able to hold the benefits in your hand. I can totally see why people give up on all kinds of goals. Lucky for me, I'm too stubborn and compulsive, which is not to say I'm above giving up (and sometimes quitting is necessary). But for now, I'm still sending this jumble of words out there. Here's a short version of our walk this morning:

piles of steaming mulch
that smelled of earthy citrus almost
made up for cold toes

picture: the dog house slash laundry line for the caretakers of our jungle house airbnb, Ilha Grande, Brazil, September 2009, cross-processed slide film, Agfa Optima (can you spot the sleeping dog?) 

cold feet

I took the dog to the park this morning and we were met with a field of frost. Sad times for all the flowering plants that have been hanging on past their prime. It was also a sad time for my toes because I can't bring myself to wear the comically large arctic expedition boots that charrow bought herself to combat poor circulation in her feet. Winter makes me whiny. Just wait until it snows! I will have to rename the blog to gripes & snipes. For now I leave you with this slightly more optimistic combination of words: 

the begonias have 

flopped, crab apples hang shriveled, 

but the birds still sing 

top picture: a gigantic begonia grown by a friend's mother, Hartland, VT, June 2014, film, Canon Tlb 

bottom picture: Red sitting patiently for me to take 1 of 70 pictures on our morning walk, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY, today, iphone 5s

move it or lose it

Yesterday was a strange day. Our dog walker asked if she could steal Red for an overnight adventure with her dogs on Saturday, so we were sans canine until 8pm last night. Over 24 hours without the seat stealer. I'm aware of how much structure the dog adds to our days, but it's even more obvious when he's gone. I didn't leave the house before lunch, which made me feel cagey and lazy. This of course makes no sense because we ran 10.7 miles the day before and spent nearly the entire day on our feet. But my brain has a pretty strong reset button for physical activity. More than an hour on my butt, and I suddenly feel like I've done nothing for days. Anyway, there was no real excuse to leave the house again after I had run my piddly afternoon errand, so I didn't go out again until about 5:45 when we went to a friend's house for dinner. The cats were living the dream, soaking up the sun spots they don't have access to when the dog is around, but I felt inexplicably cranky. Well, not inexplicably. I knew what was happening and also knew that I had a serious case of the Sundays. Clearly I should have taken myself for a walk! And now a bit of short form for the day. It has nothing to do with the dog because I came up blank on that front and it's almost past my bedtime. Instead, I bring you my experience of getting stuck behind a man who clearly did not know that my hanger could maim him with its pinky finger because he made me miss my train by about two seconds:

lumbering slowly*
down the stairs, the only soul
fucking move over

*a few minutes later: I've realized that this is redundant because lumbering is by definition slow, but I'm trying really (really) hard not to get uptight about this whole haiku thing. Could they be better? Always. Am I going to go back and "fix" them? No. Do I feel compelled to point out the pitfalls so you don't think I've missed them? Apparently.

picture: Red basking in the glory of the Hudson River (or panting because we just walked up a doozy of a hill in 85 degree heat), summer 2015, near Howell Ridge, upstate NY, cross-processed slide film, Canon Tlb 

a matter of taste

According to my doctor, whom I can no longer see because our insurance company went out of business and she doesn't take our new insurance (not bitter), I should only drink decaf coffee or preferably none at all. There's some reflux/swallowing situation and a persnickety stomach that she thinks would be better served without the extra acidity and irritation of caffeine. I refused to comply for awhile on the basis that I barely drink coffee compared to most people - 8 oz a day with breakfast. Then I tried half-caff with little noticeable improvement. So I finally gave up and went full decaf during the week and had "real" coffee on the weekends because I just can't bring myself to drink decaf all the time. It's not about the caffeine. I noticed no difference in functioning or energy level, and I get irritated when people whine about how they need caffeine when what they really need is sleep and water (Self-righteous, party of one). If they made decaf that tasted the way the other coffee we drink tastes, I would happily switch over. The problem is I LOVE the coffee we drink. My partner has worked in specialty coffee (think non-starbucks/smaller companies with high quality beans roasted at a medium profile and respectable sourcing ethics) for over ten years. I worked in a specialty shop for about 3.5 years. I have developed a serious weakness for fancy coffee (and a disdain for people who drink corner store motor fuel just to get their fix, sorry to any fiending readers willing to drink anything). Coffee is also a part of my morning trifecta of happiness, which involves a breakfast that I've been obsessed with for about 5 years (the exact same breakfast every day, if at all humanly possibly) and reading a book while I eat.

When I went on my summer music pilgrimage, I switched to regular coffee for the purposes of sharing the excess from my french press (just try sharing decaf and see how many scornful looks and wrinkled noses come your way). I planned on sharing for two reasons: I knew from experience that people were going to scoff at my coffee-making paraphernalia (hand grinder, scale) so sharing was a way to reduce the mockery, and it was a damn good excuse to not drink decaf. Ever since the trip, I've had difficulty making the switch back to my ascetic decaf ways, which causes guilt and reflux. I worry that I'm causing permanent damage or somehow creating the conditions for the dreaded C word by damaging tissues or whatever. This is the problem with health-related decisions. They all involve what are called "intertemporal choices," which is when the choice you make now will affect the possibilities available later. Put another way, it's the choice between the cost/benefit of something now vs. the cost/benefit of something in the future. Like going to bed. The perceived cost of turning off that movie now outweighs the future benefit of feeling rested in the morning. Or drinking less alcohol. The perceived benefit of having that last beer vs the future cost of being more hung over. Or the perceived cost of drinking decaf vs. the benefit of better digestive health. Blah blah blah. Basically I'm feeling whiny and guilty and irritated that I have a sensitive body when other people treat theirs like complete shit and don't appear to suffer any consequences. Moving on to our short form for the day:

measured and consumed
with care, I can't give up the
highlight of my day

picture: the window of a coffeeshop whose name I can't remember, NYC, August 2011, film, Canon Tlb 

peer pressure

New Years makes me grumpy. Maybe it's the loss of sleep (we didn't even stay up until midnight!) or the excessive amounts of homemade pizza I ate or the annoying amount of trash in the park leftover from fireworks or the champagne bottles discarded by people who attended said fireworks. Could also be the gray cold day. Or the pressure to make New Year's Eve special, which ultimately ends with disappointment. My partner is really good at letting go of that pressure to crank up the volume on NYE, but I'm not quite there. Objectively, we had a very laid back and enjoyable time with friends' making the aforementioned pizza with their 3-year-old. We walked there. We didn't have to get dressed up or yell over loud music or pretend to give a sh*t about making conversation with people we barely know. Subjectively, I went to bed at 11:15 feeling lame even though I detest the kinds of activities deemed "exciting" by most people's standards. Yet another instance where I really need to choose my choice. Today, despite my crankiness, has been nice enough. How can I complain when I got to read a book and attend to some much needed house cleaning? Why get all fussy about a night that amounts to a cultural phenomenon? Need to work on this. In the meantime, here is the last hour in short form:

with tired burning eyes
and heavy lids, I read while
cats lounge on my limbs

decisions

After spending the majority of the day taking care of pre-holiday tasks, I readied myself for work and left with what I thought was more than enough time to get to my 5pm client. Anyone who has ridden the NYC subway system knows where this story is headed. Flash forward 25 minutes, and I'm still standing on the same damn train platform where exactly 1 train had stopped. A train which I decided not to take because it would have involved two switches, thus making it too much of a hassle (famous last thoughts). I decided to wait for the correct train, but it was a gamble I knew I'd lost when I heard the announcement that service into Manhattan had been temporarily suspended. Good times. Or rather, no time because I used up my entire buffer reading my book and listening to the rumble of trains headed to other stations in the distance. It's so hard to decide when to ditch a particular train. It's like waiting for the damn bus: you never know when it might show up, so you keep waiting because you've already invested such and such amount of time and how much would it suck if it came right after you gave up?? As I ran (literally) to the 2/3 station up the avenue, I imagined the B train arriving down below. These are not helpful thoughts. Thankfully, they didn't stick around very long because at a certain point you just have to choose your choice. So I hauled ass to the other station and settled in for another wait, happy to have brought a book good enough to distract me from my watch ("Those Who Stay and Those Who Leave"). The trains cooperated for the rest of the trip and after a leisurely jog (yes, I'm that dummy running down the sidewalk in work clothes with a book in their hand), I managed to beat my client to the session by about 3 minutes (his usual amount of lateness). And now in short form:

feet pounding the street
dodging strollers and pigeons
hurry up and wait

//

went from the sedate
state of baking cookies to
rushing and cursing

(there's something here with a sugar rush and rushing to the train but I don't have the brain power to put it together)

picture: out of service delivery truck on the side of the road, near Hartland, VT, June 2014, film, Canon Tlb

socially dehydrated

The hangover continues. You think I mean alcohol, but I'm actually referring to the sugar and lack of sleep situation that feels remarkably similar to having cozied up to one too many drinks. The physical toll combined with too much social time for this introvert has resulted in some serious crabbiness. Granted, we did get to spend the afternoon/evening with one of my favorite people (pictured above). Here's a 17 syllable description of him that only scrapes the surface of his greatness:

quick to laugh, slow to
leave, generous with hugs and
he washes dishes

picture: Chris standing outside ample hills ice cream giving me the "i'm not happy with this picture taking, but I'm too nice to frown at you" face, August 2015, film, Canon Tlb