Dillypoo had the week from hell last week.
Circumstances beyond my control have derailed my blogging, I'm super busy at work, broke my glasses and was attacked by a flying rat.
Other than that, I'm fine.
The biggest thorn in my days is my inability to blog frequently. Blogger and my computer don't like each other and their dispute is disrupting my creativity.
For some strange reason, my internet connection freezes when I'm on the Blogger site, usually when I visit some of my favorite bloggers or try to comment, and sometimes while I'm composing another fantastically amusing post.
It's annoying as hell because I have to crawl under my desk and unplug the router to fix it.
The next thorn is work. I'm busier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers, which is my excuse for silence during the week. My notorious busy season is here (this is where I'd link to a post from last year but I'm afraid to launch another page to grab the link). The Professor and I turned down two dinner dates this week because Dillypoo couldn't get home before 8:00.
And after being silenced from blogging, yesterday I blinded myself by breaking my glasses. It was after my group run. I was wiping the lenses clean before turning out of the parking lot to go home when I snapped the bridge in half.
I panicked. Dillypoo is blind as a bat. I can't see the steering wheel much less the road without glasses.
I gingerly backed up hoping I wouldn't run over anyone, eased into a parking space and made my way into the running store for help. They were able to tape them together well enough for me to make the five minute drive home where my spare specs were waiting in a drawer.
I took them in for repair. They should be ready in a week.
But the whipped cream on horse shit for my week? Monday morning something leapt from the ceiling or a tall cabinet as I got ice water out of the fridge. All I saw was a dark shadow fly at me from above and land with a thud at my feet before scurrying away in a blur.
Yes, I shrieked. No, The Professor did not wake up and rescue me. After calming myself, I marched upstairs, looked at his slumbering body, bent over and screeched, "We have a rat! Kill it!"
He murmured something unintelligibly and rolled over. I stomped noisily out of the room and glared at the cats. "We have a rat! Kill it!"
Today is Sunday and I have hopes for a less dramatic, if not calmer, week. Work will continue to intensify until the end of October, but today The Professor is in his studio and the house is quiet, my internet is working and there's a rat trap with two feline sentries downstairs. I'm washing laundry, paying bills and crossing my fingers that Blogger let's me post this.
Welcome to my life.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
I Remember
Tears are streaming down my face this morning as I watch and listen to the name reading ceremony in New York. I did not know any of those murdered ten years ago today, but I grieve for them as if they were family.
I remember that day. It was a beautiful morning in Fort Worth just as it was in New York, and I woke filled with joy at the birth of my niece the day before. I heard the first sketchy report about a plane hitting a New York building on the radio as I drove to work. I was on the Lancaster Street bridge, and I thought it strange a small plane hitting a building in New York City was newsworthy in Fort Worth.
I remember standing in the design department at work fifteen minutes later, telling my friends and co-workers about my brother's baby daughter, when someone said a second plane had crashed in New York. We didn't have cable access on the office television and live-streaming was inconsistent on the computer, so we tuned into radios at our desks. I tried working on reports and other paperwork while I listened, but it all seemed suddenly unimportant.
I remember catching my breath when the first tower fell, and tears rolling down my cheeks as the events unfolded, much like they are now. Nobody said anything. My building was silent as we listened in horror to the morning's events unfold.
I remember leaving work early that day. Our phones had stopped ringing as clients, customers and vendors also abandoned their usual routines. The buildings downtown, in neighboring Dallas and all over the country were being evacuated. Nobody knew if, when or where another attack would occur. I worried my city was a target because of the joint reserve Air Force base in town. I went home and turned on the television, finally able to see images of the awful events I'd listened to all morning. I hugged and held onto my husband.
I remember the silence of the days that followed. The only planes in the air were military, and they flew constantly, their engines startlingly loud when they passed overhead. Every radio and television station was tuned to New York. There was no music, no regularly scheduled programming, no sporting events. Everything and everyone was focused on Ground Zero and The Pentagon.
I remember flags and red, white and blue ribbons that suddenly adorned cars, homes and buildings. There was a pick-up truck with an enormous American flag anchored to it's bed that drove around town for months. I was proud to be an American and felt a patriotism I'd never experienced before. I was united with those around me by birth, and the things that separated us - like politics, race, religion and prejudice - were overshadowed by the fact we were all Americans.
My life changed on 9/11 not because I lost someone I loved, but because I lost a way of living and being that I loved. I lost a job I loved when my employers' lost their business because of the economic impact of that day. I lost a sense of calm and security, knowing that anyone with a differing view of the world could irrevocably change mine.
I am a survivor of violence, and the events of ten years ago brought back many of the emotions I'd dealt with years before: the loss of innocence, control and trust. But I refuse to live my life in fear, because if I do, then they have won a bigger victory than the murder of 3,000 people on one day. I choose instead to live my life with awareness, tolerance and love.
I remember.
Peace.
I remember that day. It was a beautiful morning in Fort Worth just as it was in New York, and I woke filled with joy at the birth of my niece the day before. I heard the first sketchy report about a plane hitting a New York building on the radio as I drove to work. I was on the Lancaster Street bridge, and I thought it strange a small plane hitting a building in New York City was newsworthy in Fort Worth.
I remember standing in the design department at work fifteen minutes later, telling my friends and co-workers about my brother's baby daughter, when someone said a second plane had crashed in New York. We didn't have cable access on the office television and live-streaming was inconsistent on the computer, so we tuned into radios at our desks. I tried working on reports and other paperwork while I listened, but it all seemed suddenly unimportant.
I remember catching my breath when the first tower fell, and tears rolling down my cheeks as the events unfolded, much like they are now. Nobody said anything. My building was silent as we listened in horror to the morning's events unfold.
I remember leaving work early that day. Our phones had stopped ringing as clients, customers and vendors also abandoned their usual routines. The buildings downtown, in neighboring Dallas and all over the country were being evacuated. Nobody knew if, when or where another attack would occur. I worried my city was a target because of the joint reserve Air Force base in town. I went home and turned on the television, finally able to see images of the awful events I'd listened to all morning. I hugged and held onto my husband.
I remember the silence of the days that followed. The only planes in the air were military, and they flew constantly, their engines startlingly loud when they passed overhead. Every radio and television station was tuned to New York. There was no music, no regularly scheduled programming, no sporting events. Everything and everyone was focused on Ground Zero and The Pentagon.
I remember flags and red, white and blue ribbons that suddenly adorned cars, homes and buildings. There was a pick-up truck with an enormous American flag anchored to it's bed that drove around town for months. I was proud to be an American and felt a patriotism I'd never experienced before. I was united with those around me by birth, and the things that separated us - like politics, race, religion and prejudice - were overshadowed by the fact we were all Americans.
My life changed on 9/11 not because I lost someone I loved, but because I lost a way of living and being that I loved. I lost a job I loved when my employers' lost their business because of the economic impact of that day. I lost a sense of calm and security, knowing that anyone with a differing view of the world could irrevocably change mine.
I am a survivor of violence, and the events of ten years ago brought back many of the emotions I'd dealt with years before: the loss of innocence, control and trust. But I refuse to live my life in fear, because if I do, then they have won a bigger victory than the murder of 3,000 people on one day. I choose instead to live my life with awareness, tolerance and love.
I remember.
Peace.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Milestones
Dillypoo hit a couple of running milestones this week. First, I ran my farthest distance yesterday:
Next, I passed the 400 mile mark on Wednesday:
Wowzer!
Ignore that "29 runs" indicator. I've been tracking since January when I started training for the Cowtown 10K. Nike+ GPS and Dillypoo have a few things to discuss. I updated their iPhone app last night and it changed my total mileage 145!
Not cool. And after checking their forum boards, I'm not the only one having issues. I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed that they're working on a fix.
Because I really want to see 500 miles pop up!
Ten point one miles! In under two hours! Wowzer.
I'm also feeling it today, but in a good way. I like having a achy muscles. They remind me of how much I've changed over the past 2.5 years.
Next, I passed the 400 mile mark on Wednesday:
Wowzer!
Ignore that "29 runs" indicator. I've been tracking since January when I started training for the Cowtown 10K. Nike+ GPS and Dillypoo have a few things to discuss. I updated their iPhone app last night and it changed my total mileage 145!
Not cool. And after checking their forum boards, I'm not the only one having issues. I'm keeping my fingers and toes crossed that they're working on a fix.
Because I really want to see 500 miles pop up!
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Office Drama
Dillypoo wore girl clothes to work today. Not just a sundress and sandals, but a business-style dress with cruel shoes and jewelry. I met my mother for a few minutes this morning and she was so surprised to see me in something age appropriate, she took a picture. Which I'd share as proof but it's on her phone, not mine. I was rocking the look for most of the day and feeling pretty grown up until tragedy struck around 3:00.
I should know better. Dillypoo doesn't wear heels for a reason. I'm a klutz. While walking through the office, I stubbed my toe on a messenger bag full of bricks (or something) and broke a nail:
Ouch. That's going to hurt the next time I put on running shoes.
Luckily, Dillypoo's office is next door to a day spa. I called and made an Emergency Pedicure appointment, but I had to fight the urge to fix the problem myself while I waited for two hours. Which was tough. Broken nails are like pimples. Messing with either one usually leads to regret.
It was difficult, but I managed to resist temptation. Once I got to the salon, I was rushed to the pedicure room and immediately medicated to calm my frazzled nerves:
Now before you start asking where to send cards and flowers, my capable pedicurist was able to trim and glue my nail so it will hopefully grow out gracefully. I should be able to run on Saturday, although I may need to wrap my toe with tape. I have a follow-up appointment in two weeks for another trim (and maybe more glue).
Although it was a bit touch and go for awhile, in the end I didn't lose the nail and I got a much needed pedicure. I was also able to ditch the cruel shoes:
I wonder if I can expense the pedicure since the injury happened at work? I'll have to ask my boss tomorrow.
I should know better. Dillypoo doesn't wear heels for a reason. I'm a klutz. While walking through the office, I stubbed my toe on a messenger bag full of bricks (or something) and broke a nail:
Ouch. That's going to hurt the next time I put on running shoes.
Luckily, Dillypoo's office is next door to a day spa. I called and made an Emergency Pedicure appointment, but I had to fight the urge to fix the problem myself while I waited for two hours. Which was tough. Broken nails are like pimples. Messing with either one usually leads to regret.
It was difficult, but I managed to resist temptation. Once I got to the salon, I was rushed to the pedicure room and immediately medicated to calm my frazzled nerves:
Now before you start asking where to send cards and flowers, my capable pedicurist was able to trim and glue my nail so it will hopefully grow out gracefully. I should be able to run on Saturday, although I may need to wrap my toe with tape. I have a follow-up appointment in two weeks for another trim (and maybe more glue).
Although it was a bit touch and go for awhile, in the end I didn't lose the nail and I got a much needed pedicure. I was also able to ditch the cruel shoes:
I wonder if I can expense the pedicure since the injury happened at work? I'll have to ask my boss tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)