Cat – Rant and Roll

And the itsy bitsy spider

Dear readers,

It’s May 5^th.

I am sitting on my couch. There is a sleepy cat in my lap, and an even sleepier husband dozing in the sunroom just behind me.

My butt is sore from all of the jump squats I completed yesterday.

Strangely enough, I feel no side-effects from the seventy-fish push-ups.

This must mean I am getting stronger.

(At least arm-wise; not ass-wise.)

In the past two months these things have happened:

Marc and I sold our townhome and bought and moved into a new house. We have a beautiful garden and grassy yard, with a large patio and gas bbq. On days when the weather cooperates, we like to sit under the sun’s strong rays and wax poetic about our little piece of heaven.

Our home was built in 1907.

If there are ghosts, they are friendly.

On April 6 I ran a personal best in the Sunshine Coast half-marathon. Completing the course in 1:31:13, I came 11^th overall for all of the ladies, and 7^th in my age group.

It ended up being a very warm day to run 21.1km. Regret, they name is an Under Armour long-sleeve shirt.

(I need to really remember that start-line gooseflesh is fleeting.)

I’ve been re-reading quite a bit of Robertson Davies. Six months ago it was the Salterton Trilogy, and now I’m halfway through The Depford Trilogy.

Oh! For that man’s way with words.

Marc and I have also made a budget.

Things be serious, folks.

In June I am visiting Chicago for four days. In August, Hawaii for nine.

Tough Mudder is June 21.

I will be the strongest.

(Seriously, I am Linda Hamiltoning this race like a bamf).

The one true fly in the ointment is that I haven’t been sleeping very well for the past month. In fact, there are only two days since perhaps the birth of the New Year that I can remember sleeping soundly through the night.

Sometimes I believe it might never happen again.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with work, and life, and thoughts, and fears, and loves, that there is no room left over to live (let alone sleep).

What I want is to live purely and plainly, without early-morning heartaches, without bed sheets soaked through from my rising panic and clammy sweat, without the sensation of a lead weight pressing down on my chest, through my chest, into my heart, through my heart.

Only I’m not sure how.

…

Dear readers,

Today is June 16th.

I recently returned from a five day trip to the land of deep dish, skyscrapers, and wind.

Seriously, Chicago is the best.

(The only thing that isn’t the best is Chicago baseball. But take my word for it when I say that this opinion isn’t a knock on the White Sox themselves per se, but more so on the sport in general. Because good grief is that crap ever boring.)

SORRY NOT SORRY.

I’ve been sleeping much better of late – trying as I might to get my anxiety in check and buckle down on long-term, effective coping mechanisms that will quiet and quell the run-run-running of words throughout my head on a second to second basis.

It’s a work in progress, but my nose is grinding away on that stone like a grinding thing.

Of late I feel like I could run forever.

Of late I like to imagine myself as swift-footed Atalanta, charging past her would-be suitors (and in the act, signing their death warrants), racing free from all worldly constraints. The only difference of course being my penchant from outlet mall spandex and race t-shirts.

One day I will spend a whack load of cash dollars on expensive beautiful running gear.

But until that day, I’m going to keep on keeping on looking like I belong on the cover of a 1979 copy of Runner’s World.

And that’s hot stuff.

…

I’ve never once stopped thinking about all of y’alls.

Thank you for your comments, emails, and words of concern and encouragement.

Tune in next time – same bat time, same bat channel.

(Same batty writer.)

I’m climbing up that spout.

If all else fails, you can count on me

Well, it’s been a year and a day (or three weeks if you will) since I last wrote anything in this electronic diary of mine (I actually like to think of it as a modern day papyrus scroll), and instead of lamenting the ever-quickening pace of time and space as I do at the beginning of all of my ramblings, I will instead just get to THE FACTS.

1.) Gold medal games.

Marc and I woke up at 4am last Sunday to watch the Canadian men take on the Swedish team in the Olympic gold medal hockey match.

I’m not going to lie, I nearly gave up on the entire venture the minute the alarm went off. Four o’clock in the morning is just TOO. DARN. EARLY.

After I managed to temporarily muzzle the buzzing, Marc leaned over to me and whispered, “Is this actually happening?”

To which I replied, “Fifty-fifty.”

But in the end, it only took me a couple of minutes to rustle myself out of bed and get ready to face the still-darkened sky (not to mention the influx of snow that had begun to fall sometime earlier that night.)

The previous day I had bought pain au chocolate for Marc and I, as well as the friends who had so generously offered to host the game, and I grabbed the bag of pastries before heading out into the blackness.

(Marc elected to catch another thirty minutes of shut-eye, explaining that he would meet up with us at the start of the second period.)

My eyeballs nearly fell out of my sockets when I arrived at Greg and Daniela’s place and saw them both in regular clothing. You couldn’t have gotten me to change out of my pajamas for all the cocoa-filled croissants in the world.

But they’re pretty relaxed folks, and know my habits well, so neither were deterred by my lack of formal dress (or really, any dress at all.)

Over the next three hours we drank buckets of coffee, nibbled on baked goods, and cheered as Jonathan Toews, Sidney Crosby, and Chris Kunitz secured our second straight Olympic hockey gold.

And then I went back to bed.

Which after drinking my body weight in coffee was not the easiest of feats, let me assure you.

After I work up, I couldn’t stop thinking about Par Marts, the Swedish coach, and just how much he doesn’t fit the mold of what I imagine a hockey coach to be.

So I made this:

Am I the worst?

Perhaps.

But either way, I am totally okay with it.

2.) Lip-synch offs.

So, I’m not a big fan of most American talk shows. As a dedicated, long-standing fan of The Graham Norton Show, I feel that most product offered on this side of the pond is, to put it delicately, sub-par at best.

However, I have to give credit where credit is due, and tip my hat to Jimmy Fallon for all the hilarious things he does with his guests. (Not to mention the fact that he somehow got The Roots to be his back-up band – a feat so nuts I’m like to believe that Beelzebub will be getting a huge influx of souls sometime in the next fifty years or so.)

For instance, this lip-synch off:

Oh. My. Goodness.

Despite the epicness of Paul Rudd’s Freddie Mercury, I am not afraid to admit that I like his Tina Turner better.

Those handshakes?

Brilliant.

3.) MY CAT.

She’s up to something.

Though I’ve yet to figure out what.

4.) This darn crazy world.

As I race about daily in my own little self-contained ecosystem, I have such a hard time processing everything that is happening outside of the petri dish that is my life.

Every time I read anything news related my heart just breaks into smaller and smaller pieces.

To combat this journalistic-propelled malaise, I have been running like a running-thing and spending all of the time with my brilliant, inspiring, and totally bonkers husband.

All we can do is focus on doing as much good as we can (starting with the petri dish!) and hope that our efforts will create spill over, and inspire others to affect change.

5.) This guy

And if all else fails?

I’m just going to follow this dude’s lead:

That’s right.

SUPERGEIL.

Like sand through the hourglass

Holy frick on a stick it’s been two week since my last post.

WHERE IS THE WORLD SLIPPING AWAY TOO?

I don’t know about you folks, but here in Vancity it is frozen like a frozen thing. We’ve had big puffs of fluffy white stuff falling from the frigid grey heavens for two days straight now. I don’t go anywhere without my massive winter coat and big boots because goodness knows I wouldn’t want to end up stranded in a rogue snow drift unprepared!

Goodness knows.

Speaking of unprepared – can we hit the pause button so I can possibly get my act together and think about what needs to happen in preparation for the big December Two Five?

Everywhere there might be a feeling of Christmas, but there’s also a feeling of urgency and stress!

Egads.

In similar news, Marc and I keep racing about like mad gophers, trying to keep up with all of our work and volunteer-related commitments.

I’m still doing the comedy thing, but definitely taking on less gigs than earlier this year, what with my sanity being held together by an all too fragile thread. I’ve also been hosting the Storytelling Show, running up a storm (up until the buckets snow started falling to the ground that is), and doing a ton of United Way speaking engagements.

We’ve also been knee-deep in DIY home repairs (Ms. Java can you hear me? I have foolishly followed in your footsteps!), repainting our walls, and installing new carpet in the upstairs.

I am pretty ready for our house to go back to normal.

Whatever that is.

BUT HOLY COMFORT BATMAN.

Who knew what a difference a new carpet could make? I never!

It’s seriously like walking on heaven. My little feets smile up a storm every time I get out of bed and step on that sweet, soft carpet-y goodness.

Riiiiight….

OKAY.

I promise to actually write a real blog post this week, not just this insane mish-mash of my life’s eccentricities plus a collection of photographs of all the delicious treats I eat.

But until that time!

Here we go…

YES.