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Not all of me

“And then it struck Oleg that Shulubin was not delirious, that he’d recognized him and was reminding him of their last conversation before the operation. He had said, “Sometimes I feel quite distinctly that what is inside me is not all of me. There’s something else, sublime, quite indestructible, some tiny fragment of this universal spirit. Don’t you feel that?”

– Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Cancer Ward

I read the majority of this book last week as I lay on the blindingly hot sands of Oahu’s Waikiki beach.

I feel almost ill at ease admitting this fact. As if my enjoyment of the book should be muted, having loved it in a land so starkly foreign from the places birthed in its pages.

But like so many great works, all it did was awake a thirst.

A desire.

To feel.

To need, and be needed.

To kiss that sublime.

And be.

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Sunday Night Confessions

1. It’s completely ridiculous how much I love this music video.

Which has me a little worried.

Because it seems as though the older I get, the more my musical tastes regress.

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Now, I’m no scientist, but I feel like I used to have some pretty some solid street cred when it came to my everyday jams, and then I turned twenty-five and everything started to go to pot, and now I use terms like “my everyday jams.”

And now, with every passing year, I find myself more and more, drawn to manufactured, heavily-produced sugary schlock.

And by schlock I mean SOLID GOLD.

God I love this stuff so much it feels criminal.

(I probably listened to this song thirty times on loop this morning. Half the time lip-synching like a fiend, and the other half dancing about like a madwoman.)

At least when it comes to Tom Hanks, my love for him will never die, nor shall I ever be ashamed to proclaim this affection.

It doesn’t matter how many terrible movies he makes, or how many times he doesn’t get the hilarious jokes in a Tina Fey and Amy Poehler Golden Globes opening monologue – the power of A League of Their Own, The Burbs, That Thing you Do, and Forrest Gump will live on, ad infinitum.

At least, scientifically speaking.

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2. One of my first major celebrity crushes was on Jeremy Taggart, the drummer from Our Lady Peace.

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This probably means little to most of you reading this blog, but those Canadians who remember our country’s late nineties music scene, or at the very least spent some portion of their lives watching Much Music, are all probably thinking, “Really!? Him?”

Yes, yes, we all know that Mr. Rain Maida was the sulky, skulking sexy frontman (of what had to be one of the best representations of what we now think of as a “90s band”) but even as a fourteen year-old I was always one to buck aesthetic trends, and go for the outliers.

I mean what can I say? The guy had one set of rocking nerd glasses!

My teenage hormones never stood a fighting chance.

3. I always weirdly hoped that Britney Spears and Kevin Federline would make it.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

4. I was quite sick last weekend and couldn’t run for about a week. The first time out after being laid-up by illness, I always concoct insane survival scenarios, and pretend that I’m in an Armageddon action movie, wherein I have to run as fast as I can to the secret CIA bunker because I am the last remaining top-secret operative trained in nuclear bomb disarmament.

The survival of the entire western seaboard is contingent on my success!

Normally this leads to me running so hard I feel as though my lungs are on fire and the only way I can put out the flames is by ralphing them right up.

(My lungs that is.)

But goodness knows I always make it to that bomb.

Just in the nick of time.

5. Spring is in the air.

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I can feel it in my heart.

See more snaps of my madcap adventures on my new Instagram! Follow me @Vanessaisrunning.