Many, many, MANY run-on sentences ahead, folks.
I’ve been writing so much for IHI lately that I feel like I am losing some of my creativity, my grasp on writing anything other than articles I choose and are incredibly compelling and interesting and fun to research and write but ultimately don’t satisfy my creative compulsions. Still, writing for iheartintelligence.com is a treat and I’m totally grateful for it, but I felt like I needed to contribute to oh, I don’t know, my own blog once in awhile. The weeds are growing in here, folks, and this writer’s a bit rusty at this blogging thing but here we go…
I walked into the women’s locker room at the gym following a strength training class this morning and the first person I saw was an elegantly-dressed young woman in four-inch stilettos fresh out of the shower clearly getting ready to go (back?) to work. Lovely silk or some other expensive textile blouse, tailored pencil skirt, skyscraper heels. Like, seriously how do people walk in those things?!?! I proceeded to “change” (remove yoga pants I wore over cycling shorts for class, tuck all things into pannier) and left the dressing room. I felt at once stunted and free: this woman was probably younger than me, and clearly had a “real job”. My boss and I joke about getting real jobs someday, the real joke being that if anyone tried to take our jobs from us they’d have to pry them from our cold, dead fingers. Being poor isn’t fun, and worrying about money isn’t fun, but I’ve been at the other end of this situation, and having had a job in the past that made money no object and had me throwing around hundred dollar bills regularly at the order of my employer but working, sometimes literally, 24/7, was no fun either. Not that I am being given the choice, but if I were I think I would still choose being poor and working for a kick-ass nonprofit I love dearly and am deeply involved with on a day-to-day basis over being wealthy beyond my ability to understand and answering the phone at all hours of the night because the spot price for gold dropped $50 or $80 or went soaring or whatever. At the end of the day I’d rather be emotionally and spiritually fulfilled than rich, and while metal markets are exciting, they are soul-desiccating. There is absolutely no soul in precious metals. None. Whatsoever.
So I’ll take my work wardrobe of faded greasy jeans tugged on over the cycling shorts I biked in wearing and the tee shirt I swapped for the kit’s jersey any old time. Also, it’s considerably more comfortable, if nowhere near as glamorous. Though I guess that depends on who is assigning glamour value. The guys I hang around regularly now don’t give two shits if I show up dripping in diamonds but I wear a new Pearl Izumi kit and the compliments just pour in.
It was horrifically hot today, and I don’t say such things lightly. The temperature climbed to 97 by 4pm and had only dropped a degree by 6. Cycling home 6.6 miles in that kind of heat left me light-headed, nauseated and wholly exhausted. My heart rate was getting out of control too. It was really weird, and I vaguely remember feeling this way before when I hadn’t eaten enough before a long run for marathon training. Oh, yeah, BONKING!! I hated that word. I think I still do. But it was sprinting laps around my fevered brain as I fought a 15mph headwind uphill towards the last half mile home. I wandered in on shaky legs, grabbed Roo, and hauled her downstairs, dangerously scraping down the uncarpeted basement steps in my slickery cycling shoes. Just a little sketchy there, and it’s only June 10. IT IS ONLY JUNE 10, PEOPLE. Like many other Northern Colorado households, ours doesn’t have air conditioning. I may be camping in the basement (“my office”) for the duration of the summer. Maybe I’ll get more writing done.
It’s fucking impossible to avoid politics these days; no matter how many times I forward past the political newscasts on NPROne and put blinders on when doing research for articles and scroll past certain friends’ posts and yes I have certainly posted a bit myself. Totally guilty there. I don’t get the going rhetoric of the super hardcore Bernie supporters though, who are absolutely refusing to vote for Hillary already. I did see a DailyKos that made light and sense of this at the same time, however:
Because seriously, people. Shut the fuck up and vote for the Democrat. What the hell is the matter with you? Pull your head out of your ass and get your ego in check and get out and fucking VOTE. We should see Democrats lined up to vote for Hillary like we saw people in South Africa lined up to vote for Mandela. Because Donald Trump cannot be our President. At this point, that is truly all that matters.
That being said, I count myself among the disappointed Bernie supporters. Just not the fucking delusional, screw-you-I’m-voting-for-a-third-party-candidate Bernie supporters.
La la la…getting back to nicer things…
My garden is beautifully productive and looks to continue to be assuming the plants don’t get scorched out of their soil by the horrific heat of late. I found an awesome quinoa power salad that I am absolutely loving and the recipe makes an approximate boatload. I have a female friend now who I consider my bestie, and other female friends, so I am not really scared of women the way I used to be. I rock climb at least weekly with Chris, I go to Group Power regularly at the gym and I try to get a decent amount of sleep nightly. I clean the litterbox and the kitchen more frequently, and my laundry habits more resemble a woman in her mid-thirties than a 13-year old tomboy. I cycle a lot…almost 100 miles a week. I make to-die-for zucchini muffins and I give a few of each batch to the homeless folks I know. I babysit on Wednesday nights and I answer phones one Saturday evening monthly to be of service. I am finding my voice a little more in the communities I’m a part of, and I don’t freak out constantly about dangling prepositions. I think maybe I’m growing up.
Syke!! Later, folks…