Jogdream

Most people lose themselves in their iPod while they jog. Downbeat, right foot. While I'm typically plugged in, the beat dies out after a few miles. Enter the Jogdream. It's not merely a daydream because I have to conjure up enough emotion to distract my mind from my body. Sometimes it's anger but typically the strongest emotion comes from a jogdream infused with sadness or fierce injustice. It's always simple, with plenty of leeway for details that can be worked into each succeeding retelling as I add on miles.
The latest one was mostly just morbid. But it worked. MapMyRun = 4.82.

My right hand was pulled back into my sleeve, clutching my iPod. My keys, the whole keyring, was looped on my pinky. I'm running across gravel, not paying any attention to my footing. I trip. Of course. Hand slams into a rock, driving a single key through my hand. From what N* has said about punctures, I do not remove it. Calmly, probably in shock, I knock on the door of a house. "Sorry-- Could you call 911? I think I need to go to the hospital."
The ambulance ride is a blur. Seated on a doctor's table, a nurse asks me for insurance. I ask her to call my mom. The nurse leaves and I sit alone, waiting for the doctor to come. I hate hospitals.
Surgery is performed. Nothing seriously damaged but there is a large bandage on my hand. A bored nurse at the front desk checks me out. I stand sheepishly in the lobby for awhile before asking if I can use the phone.
No one answers at home in Indiana. I hang up and walk out the front door. Then I walk home.

I don't know anyone's phone number. Without my cellphone, I couldn't call J* or N*....not even the HTs. There is no one to pick me up.

Replay.

To That Girl

who didn't know The Things They Carried is fiction.

Your anger was so unjustified. Don't dismiss the truth just because it's labeled Fic O'Brien.

Sorry Spaniard

It's the night before a trip. I could have been in bed about twenty minutes ago but...that felt wrong.
So instead, I'm perched on top of a pile of clean laundry (feels just like driving the car). Sorry to the traveler that I haven't been great at the stories. Because it's all about the stories.

Biggest news on this front is that the blood came out of my new Wal-mart $3 sweatshirt. And I'm rather sad about that.

Tomorrow's Destination:


Here's to Valentine's spent in foreign lands.

My Nights

Meatballs, you're next.

Oh noes.

Is our magazine dead?

Everybody Today

What do death, Mika and I have in common?

...We all witnessed Non-star perform in the garage. Leaps, pushes, grunts, circles...all inclusive.

Death/Adam kind of looks like Colin Firth.