Mini-van....MEGA-loathe

My recent job change has led to nearly doubled travel time, not to mention the trips back and forth to let the dogs out (and avoid poop mines on the floor), and to the gym (to avoid what I now call a Supersized McButt...no thank you).  In my auto-adventures, minor annoyances have morphed into full-fledged
"CURSINGWHOTHEFUCKDOYOUTHINKYOUAREICAN'TTAKEIT"s. 

And at the top of my list?  Minivans.

First, a few questions...

Why do we need a vehicle that can hold 12 people, has 4 TVs, and could be inhabited for days if necessary?  Do we REALLY want to spend that much time together in close quarters?  REALLY?!

How is it that innocent 20 and 30-somethings who know exactly how lame these vehicles are...somehow find their way to a dealership and inevitably fall victim to what must be some damn good marketing/perks and sooner or later, try to convince ME that "they aren't so bad."  They roll up in their meth-mom pimp mobile and try to tell ME about the FEATURES of such a fine automobile.  In their best robot-brainwashed voice, "Come on....you know you want automatic sliding doors and captains chairs.  TRY it."

Who decided that packing as many people into one vehicle was SAFE....and more importantly, a FEATURE of owning such a vehicle.  I don't know about you, but when I travel, I do not have the policy of "the more the merrier."  Who actually WANTS 12 people in 1 car?!  If there were a vehicle that only had the capacity to hold 1 person....I would own it.  Hence my unending desire to own a motorcycle.  

How do car companies come up with these model names anyway?  A quick soiree into minivan research reveals the following names:

Odyssey (Remember Homer's "The Odyssey"?!  Its about a guys ridiculously long and difficult journey home.  It took him 10 YEARS.  YEARS people!  You may fantasize about being a Greek hero, but seriously, is THAT how you want to travel?)

Sienna (A quick check of wikipedia says sienna means baby poop brown.  Okay, maybe not.  But Sienna was always the unused, totally sharpened Crayon left in the box after years of creative abandon.  All the other colors were mangled and broken.  Not Sienna, nope, sienna was the ugly stubborn whore of the whole box.  And seriously, will you ever look at a brown minivan the same?)





Caravan  (You got that right!  Bring in the circus of ungrateful, spoiled kids and blinky, squeaky toys and  empty McDonald's bags and greasy haired meth soccer moms!  The more the merrier, remember?)






Town and Country (Meaning, this vehicle belongs in a "Town," ahem...Council Bluffs and the "Country," ahem... Council Bluffs.  So versatile, so adaptable!  Wear do I sign?!)







Entourage  (Seriously?  The only entourage that will be riding in a minivan will be the aforementioned spoiled kids, whiny soccer brats, or drunk teenagers who borrowed mom and dads wagon for a night on the town.)




Quest  (Definitely.  I'm on a quest to get rid of these fucking things.  If I could eliminate one thing on this planet, it would be minivans.  Cholera you say?  World hunger?  NOPE....minivans.)




Moving right along.....I have to address a few specifics that trip my trigger and make me want to bang my head on the steering wheel. 

1.  "Baby On Board" Signs in the window. 

WE GET IT.  YOU'RE A MOM.  YOU HAVE KIDS IN THE BEAST OF A VEHICLE YOU ARE DRIVING.  I'm glad you put that sign in the window.  I would have been completely obviously, considering there are car seats visible from every angle, cartoons playing on the drop-down screens to lull your kids into submission, and 4 pairs of baby shoes hanging from your rearview.  Is advertising really necessary?

2.  Cartoon depictions of the whole family on the windshield. 

Now when I say, "whole family" I don't mean mom, dad a little boy.  NOOooooo.  We have to see creepy smiling depictions of mom, dad, Sally, Bobby, Ricky, Betty Sue, Emily, Jean (who everyone calls JJ), Wade, Cleatus, Angel and Chastity (who are twins of course).  Not to mention the ever-fluctuating amount of household pets whose charicatures wrap around the entire vehicle.

3.  Religious/Political Bumper Stickers.

I don't like this sort of thing on ANY vehicle, but it seems particularly intrusive of my driving space when all I see are "Honk if you love Jesus" and "Coexist" painted all over the behemoth you're rockin. 

4.  Trying to "soup up the ride." 

Adding pimped out rims and a spoiler to a minivan is like putting a sequin bikini and some fake eyelashes on a hairy construction worker.  WE CAN STILL SEE WHAT IT REALLY IS.  Be cool....or drive a minivan.  You can't have both. 

Final thoughts....

Remember people.  There is a very thin line that exists between "Soccer Mom Minivan" and "Child Molester Creepy Van".  Beware of the windowless van.  BEWARE....BEWARE!!!

Hence...my proposal... to purge society of minivans.  Who's with me!?!

New 'Do?...Don't Mind if I Do!

Alright people.  I've recently been on a writing hiatus....I've been going through goal withdrawals since the marathon, and I just may be going through a quarter (who am I kidding) one-third life crisis.  I don't mean to sound overly dramatic here.  Its my reality folks. 

So about a month ago, I found myself crossing "Run a Marathon" off my bucket list.  Yes!  Hooray!  This runners-high lasted about a week, and then.....nothing.  The time I invested in training and running and thinking about my goal was now empty, or rather, filled with the feeling that I should be doing something, but what?  Perfect time to become a stellar blogger, right?  Yeah.....not so much. 

My first thought was, "Okay, it's cool, don't panic, just pick something else from your Bucket List and work on that."  Choosing to run the marathon was easy.  It was something I have wanted to do since I started running and I knew that it would help me to feel like I truly conquered something on my own.  But seriously, what else on my bucket list can do that?  Of coarse, my line of thinking about the marathon....and my tendency to be OCD led to me completely re-evaluating my life, my career, and my hair.  More on that later. 

Instead of just picking something and... (inserting terrible pun here) running with it like I did with the marathon, I chose to analyze what I'm currently doing....to death....and panic at the thought that I may not be truly following my bliss.  This is a Joseph Campbell concept, "following your bliss" and since learning about it in grad school...it's helped....or haunted me ever since.  Basically, Good Ol' Joe + OCD = PANIC.  Am I really doing what I'm meant to be doing?!  Am I doing something meaningful?!  I'm good at what I do, but do I love it?!  If the answer is no.....how do I change it?!  How do I get from here to there...."here" being practical, responsible, desk job Kate to "there" being awesome, creative, ambitious, impactful, emotionally and professionally satisfied...ahem...gorgeous Kate?! 

Thus, my search for answers began.  I've vented to friends...and co-workers....and my dogs (who are the best listeners), asking them the same Good Ol' Joe questions.  Terrifyingly enough, they have the same questions.  SHIT!  You're my friends!  You're the smartest people I know!  Your the smartest...and cutest dogs in the world!  Come on!  No dice.   

So there I sat...spinning my wheels, feeling like I should be doing something creative, something great, something that would push me out of my comfort zone.  I posted a status on facebook asking 300 of my closest friends for advice about what this "new and different" thing could be in my life.  90% of the people who responded....said I should have a baby.  COME ON!  Seriously?  I can't even hold my own life together!  And you people want me to have a BABY?!  Back to the drawing board....

And then fate stepped in....in the form of a woman with a mohawk.  I went to my regularly-scheduled hair appointment with Fabulous Chris, the most amazing and delicious-looking gay hairstylist I know.  I arrived a little early and he was finishing up with another client.  They were chatting about hip events coming up in town (that I've never heard of) and music they love (again, that I've never heard of) and he was putting the finishing touches on the most glorious blonde mohawk I've ever seen.  I made some comment about wishing I was that brave and that I've always wanted a mohawk.  One thing led to another...and here I sit, with a brand new 'do.  Not quite a mohawk....but mohawk-esque. 

It is 100% representative of the in-between feeling I have.  It strandles the line between "here" and "there."  Its shorter, funkier, and pushed me out of my comfort zone...but its desk-job appropriate (e.i. slightly lame) and not hot-pink (I know, I'm as disappointed as you are).  I hope, as new haircuts have done for me in the past, that this leads to new and exciting changes.  I hope that this haircut gives me the confidence and the guts to find whatever it is I am looking for.  I know....its a lot to ask of a haircut....but I'm sure if I asked Fabulous Chris, he would say, "It's fierce.  And so are you."        

   

My husband is a great sport, and here's why

Last weekend, I saw that there was a pottery tour in our area and I convinced my husband that he would actually enjoy this if he would go with me. (probably not, but come on!  How many times have I done stuff with him that I didn't exactly enjoy?) I think the conversation went something like this:


Me:  "Honey...there's this pottery thing where you can go and check out some really COOL things and see some really BIG stuff and there might be FIRE...you know...like, in the kilns....and sometimes there's FOOD.  (emphasizing all of he most important man elements of course)  And we can go and stay for just a little while or whatever and just leave if we want.  We don't have to stay....it would take like an hour and then we can go eat or whatever....so....can we go?"


Him:  "Ummm....what?"


Me:  "This pottery thing...do you want to go?"


Him:  "Are there going to be artsy people there....like artsy-orgy-cult-type people?"


Me:  "Probably....but....."


Him:  "Sure.  That's fine.  (shaking his head and chuckling)...  Weirdos."


So we go.  I'm excited to do something "artsy" and satisfied with my persuasion of my husband.  We hop in the car and go to the first location, which happens to be right in our neighborhood.  We look around, stand back, comment on things with our fist under our chin, trying to look like we are thinking deeply about the "meaning" and "vision" and all that crap.  Well....not quite.


Really, my husband makes a B-line for the free cookies, and I am caught off guard by a very creaky floor that sounds like I weigh 500 pounds with every step I take.  I do what every 20-something with the sense of humor of a 12-year-old would do:  I do the Samba back and forth on the floor a few times, laughing at the weird sounds my fancy-feet produce, and look up, only to see my husband....and a few art-hippies starring at me. 


(crickets) 


Okay then....moving right along.  We come across a collection of vases/scuplted containers that my husband stops to look at.  He says he really likes them and pauses to look at each one.  I think to myself, "Wow, he is actually enjoying this.  He is ACTUALLY looking at the stuff."  Now, blinded by the surprise of my husband actually LOOKING at the pottery, I neglect to actually pay attention to what the pieces looked like...until he starts really talking about one of the pieces.


Him:  "I really like this one."


Me:  "Oh yeah?"  (turning around to see what he's looking at)


Now, I turn around....in super slow motion....with dramatic music playing in the background, and my hair floating in the air like a shampoo commercial, only to REALLY see what he is looking at. 


You may want to sit down for this folks....but he is looking at a large vase that looks like a VAGINA.


There is an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Ray's mom takes an art class and makes this big sculpture.  She invites everyone to the art reception and someone realizes what her "sculpture" actually LOOKS like.  Once it's in Ray's head.....he can't get it out.  In his head, its nothing but "Mom...vagina.  Mom....vagina," and thats enough to put anyone into therapy for at least a year.


So there I stand.....with my husband over my shoulder munching on a cookie, commenting on how much he likes the VAGINA on the pedestal in front of us.  He notes its color, its size, its functionality (the artist had put dried flowers in the VAGINA to show how great THAT would look)....and he considers buying it.  BUYING IT!  Now, my husband doesn't buy art....but we are going to be building a house soon, so he is in a constant state of, "This would look cool in our house."


My mind shifts from 12 year old comedian mode ("It's a vagina!  hahaha!  And he doesn't even realize it!  hahahaha!") to excuse mode ("How the hell am I going to talk him out of getting that thing?!  Think woman!  THINK!"). 


Me:  "Ummm, honey?  I think we should wait and see what is at the OTHER places.  Maybe we will like something better there.....maybe....and if we don't find something else....we can come back here and get it."  (knowing full well that no man returns to the same place to buy something on their own accord)


Him:  "Okay, sure." 


THANK GOD!  I am victorious in the Vagina Battle of 2010!  Take THAT art hippies!


Later on, my husband finds a dog hair in his half-munched cookie and goes outside to spit it out.  He mumbles something about, "damn artists and their soy tofu" which makes no sense and we move on to the next stop on the tour.


Going on this tour requires a map.  Maps are like the kryptonite of marriages.  Two married people can get into a car and realize they have to use a map, and by the time they reach their destination, or give up completely, they emerge mangled and weak, begging for mercy.  Map kryptonite must have something in it that also erase people's memory, because without fail, we will get in the car weeks or months later, pick up a map, and do the whole damn thing all over again with absolutely no recollection of past map mishaps.  So here we are, dumb smiles on our faces, map in hand, ready to begin our pottery exodus.  We make it to the next location with little difficulty.  I become overly confident...dare I say cocky...."Yeah, take THAT map!"  (remember, I'm coming off of a huge victory in the Vagina Battle, so I'm feelin' good). 


We mill around, looking at nothing too special, and head back to the car, resuming our positions in the Kryp-mobile (the green kind, not the gangstas and saggy pants kind).  Sure enough....we hit a snag.  We emerge from the artists colony in the middle of nowhere and feel as though someone blindfolded us, spun us around 10 times, took off the blindfolds and said, "Go."  For some reason, with map in hand, we can't remember....or decipher whether or not we need to go left or right.  We go right.....which ends up not being "right" and end up in what looks like a scene out of "Misery."  We make a quick U-turn in what I'm sure is Kathy Bates' driveway and get back on what my husband keeps calling "the main road."  i.e. "We need to get back on the main road.  Where's the main road?"  Super specific and helpful....awesome. 


After about an hour, (bare in mind, we are at least an hour into this pottery fiasco) we find our way back to "the main road" according to my husband and head home.  I see the turn for the site of the Vagina Battle and pray that my husband doesn't say anything about going back and getting the "sculpture."  He doesn't.  Instead he asks me if I liked the tour and says he had fun.  We chat about plans for our future home and dream about what it will be like. 


Through a morning of art hippies and vaginas; dog hair and maps, my husband proves once again what a great sport he is, living what he always says to tease me when we are lost (of course due to a faulty map), "As long as we're together."  What a great guy.  :)

Spandex and Rump Roasts

I had a rather interesting lunch experience today with a new colleague, who we will call Ham, that only served to reaffirm why eating a sack lunch and reading a book ain't so bad.  There was a Student Appreciation event going on....so being the mooches caring people we are, we went for the free food support.  Ahem, anyway...we waddled through the line, overly critical of the offerings, making uncomfortable small talk.

Ham:  Oh good, they have pasta salad.

Me:  I love a good pasta salad.

Ham:  Yeah.....

Me:  Yeah...great things happen....with noodle salad...at parks.... (voice trailing)...

Ham:  Did you say something?

Me:  No. 

We sat down to enjoy our definitely-not-hamburger hamburgers just as some volleyball players came in with their bouncy ponytails and very-very-Hooter-esque spandex shorts.  Now, I risk sounding like an old lady here....but my heavens....those girls could not have pulled those up any higher or made them any shorter.  Dare I say, they needed to put some clothes on.  I PLAYED volleyball, so spare me, I get it, but this was ridiculous. 

Ham:  How do they do that?

Me:  What?

Ham:  Wear that....They must be very self-confident.

Me:  Because they are wearing spandex shorts?!

Ham:  Yeah, in here, with US!  (Like we're in a no spandex zone or something)

Me:  That's what they wear....Its sort of....the uniform.

Ham:  Its because they're tall and thin.  That's why they can do it.  That's why they must be okay with it.

Me:  (outside) Uhuh.... (inside) Okay....WHAT?! Yep....HAM...spandex + tall + volleyball = confident.

Now, I've been at this job for all of about 2 seconds, so I'm trying to be nice, and be social, and composed and be open to other people opinions .....all of which I am NOT in real life.  So I decide that the Battle of the Spandex is not worth it.  Moving on....

Another co-worker sitting with us, CS, asks Ham if he would like some ice cream.  

Ham:  Ohhhh....no....I can't eat ice cream after I eat anything with ketchup.

Me:  (outside) Wow...why is that?  (inside)  Baaaaahahahahahahaha!

Ham:  My stomach turns.

Me: (making amazing small talk as usual)  Yeah, I'm the same way with ham.

I HATE ham....cubed ham that is.  Can't eat it...can hardly look at it. 

(I know, I know, I don't have room to judge on the ketchup thing but who's even reading this?)

Ham (the person) proceeds to talk about how he used to work at a local meet processing facility...we will call it.... Hornell.  While he was at Hornell, he saw the whole process....hanging the pigs upside down, stunning them, stabbing them and watching them bleed out...cutting them up.....THE WHOLE THING.  Well, HAM decides to tell us ALL about this.  I'm halfway through my Definitely-Not-Hamburger hamburger and I can't do it.  I can't take it.

Ham:  Yeah, its crazy....they just stick em in the neck and let all the blood drain.

Me:  cough...cough...gag

CS:  What do they do with the blood?! (super into it as she takes another bite of her D-N-H Hamburger)

Ham:  They sell it to colleges and universities.  Research.  Pigs and humans are actually very similar.

Me: (outside) Wow....(inside) As made more and more clear by YOU today sir.

Ham:  Yeah.....this is where they get bacon (pointing on his body), this is pork chops, this is rump roast (as he stands up and points at his butt)....

CS:  So how do you even eat stuff?

Ham:  I pretty much just block those 2 years out of my mind....

Me: cough....cough....gag gag gag Well, I better go.  Its been great....eating with you.

Ham:  Yeah, hey, if you ever figure out that spandex-volleyball thing.....

Me:  ....yeah...what?  yeah......(as I shuffle to the trash can to dispose of my 1/2 eaten meal and my appetite)

Now, WHAT THE HELL people?!  I know I'm not innocent in this train wreck of a conversation but COME ON!  THIS is what people talk about?!  Educated people....people with JOBS and FAMILIES...Spandex and rump roast?!  Seriously?!  I thought I sucked at starting conversation....but this guy talks about booties and blood in a matter of 10 minutes! 

Tomorrow....I will gladly enjoy my PB&J, a Diet Coke, and some words of wisdom from the pages of a book.  Ham can impart HIS wisdom elsewhere.... 


 

The Result of Maggie Going "Her Way"

This is my dog Maggie...

Maggie is the newest addition to our little family and we love her terribly.  She has been with us for about a month and in that time, she has truly found her place in our home....which is usually right at my ankles or in my lap snoozing. Now...and I say this as only a mother can....Maggie is not the brightest crayon in the box.  Her HUGE heart makes up for her...well...less than huge brain.  All you dog moms out there know exactly what I'm talking about...  

This...is a story about Maggie that I just couldn't resist sharing...

One of my absolute favorite things to do is take a walk with my husband and my 2 dogs right around dusk.  I love walking slowly and holding my husband's hand and watching the dogs run and play.  On some way-too-deep level, I am against putting my dogs on a leash.  I mean, would YOU want to be on a leash???...I didn't think so.  So we go for walks and our dogs listen....most of the time, and its great. 

Two nights ago, we were on one of these glorious walks...chatting about our day and watching the girls prance along together through the cool grass.  As we are nearing the end of our walk, we have to cut through some brush/trees.  My husband has mowed a path for us so that we can end up in our front yard.  We live in a rural area and use this "short cut" to avoid the BEAST that is our driveway (more on that this winter). 

Anyway...Maggie decides she will be going "her way" not "our way" and runs up a different hill and out of sight.  We call for her and stand at the bottom of the hill impatiently waiting for her little white body to reappear...to no avail.  My husband says, "Lets just meet her at the top and cut through like usual.  She'll see us or get scared and follow us." 

(SURE SHE WILL)

We make our way back toward our yard, calling for Maggie all the way.  I can hear the familiar jingle of the tags on her collar, so I know that she is not far away. 

Our other dog, Lucy, is a diva.  She still wants all the attention and all the love and doesn't feel one bit bad about running over the littler, weaker dog (Maggie) to get what she wants.  As we search, Lucy....does this....knowing full well that SHE is not causing trouble and SHE is listening...

As my husband searches and calls out to Maggie, I turn in the direction of the jingle only to see her emerging from the thick brush/weeds/poison ivy/JUNGLE that surrounds our property.....and she is ABSOLUTELY COVERED IN NETTLES. 

Now...when I say "absolutely covered"...I mean, eyes-matted, paws-tangled, mouth-whimpering COVERED.

I pick her up and realize just how long it will take me to clean her up...and potentially how painful its going to be for both of us.  My husband...whose mind is elsewhere...wanting to go visit his brother...immediately goes for the scissors and starts cutting.  Of course, a fight insues about him not caring about her, and him being impatient...and maybe something in there about him not only making her look awful, but him making her BLEED...*not true*.  Remember...its all his fault...right?  LOL 

So, frustrated, he leaves me to my work and I find myself hacking away at my dog's fur all by myself with tears in my eyes...as she sits patiently, starring up at me saying,

"I know mom....I did a bad thing." 

This...is the result....of Maggie....going "her way." 

  Maggie will live....her hair will grow back...and the poison ivy I now have on my arms will go away... eventually.  But the lessons....oh the lessons that come from such trauma!  Gotta love the furry kids and the excitement they bring! 

Running

As my alarm went off at 5:45AM on Saturday morning for me to begin my 20 mile run....there were very few things that I could say I loved about running.  Okay, lets be honest....there's NOTHING to love at 5:45AM.  The alarm blared as I scrambled to silence it.  Dogs...and husband growled as I moved the covers in the dark.  People ask if I ever have those negative thoughts that come into your mind that tend to keep people from doing things.  5:45AM is HAPPY HOUR for those kinds of thoughts.  "Am I seriously doing this?  Its the weekend....a 3 DAY weekend....go back to bed."  If I ever skip a day, particularly a day that is set aside to do a long run, I feel horrible about it later....so I wipe the sleep from my eyes and trade would-be guilt for grogginess and a pre-run bagel.  The sun is yet to rise, and here I am, putting in my headphones and taking that first step...

I do a great deal of thinking while I run.  Its true what "they" say...whoever they are.  It really does clear your head and helps you to know yourself better.  I first started really running (and when I say this, I mean running 3-5 days a week) and I felt like I didn't have a clue who I was.  I've been running for a few years now...and I'm not going to say I know myself now....who really does...but I've thought through some of the most difficult and exciting decisions while my feet pounded the pavement, and I truly believe I am better for it. 

As I was running this weekend, it occurred to me that running is one of the only sports, and possibly one of the only individual activities that can't be cheated.  In a time when athletes are "juicing" and singers are lip-sinking and politicians can't even type....running....is running. 

Becoming a good runner is simple in method, difficult in practice....because there are no short cuts.  You don't get there by birth right, or by pumping gasoline into your veins, or by cutting corners.  To run well.....all you have to do is run.  Seriously?!......seriously.  So simple.....but that simplicity can be intimidating. 

"How far should I go?  What shoes should I buy?  How fast should I run?  Whats the trick to going long distances?"  Well...there is no trick.  This the point where people stare back with doe eyes and drool at the corner of their mouth, waiting for me to say, just kidding.  People are puzzled by something so simple...as I said, in a time when there is a way around everything.....running can't be cheated.  There is no hiding behind your shortfalls.  There is no counting on your team to compensate for your weakness.  When you lace those shoes up, and you take that first step....you are trained, or untrained....and its all on you.  (side note:  I love the movie "Man On Fire" with Denzel...if you haven't seen it, check it out...I may have stolen that line....but whatever, I'm sure Denzel wouldn't mind).

Now, I know that these things about running might not appeal to a lot of people...in fact, many people don't do it for exactly those reasons.  Some people hate the fact that there are no short cuts, you can't cut corners, and you can't sqeak by on giving 50 or 60% of yourself.....but I LOVE THAT.  I love that whatever I put into training is EXACTLY what I get out of it.  I get where I'm going only if I have trained and taught myself to get there.  Very few things are as black and white as that.  Secretly, I know that I have done everything I can to be ready for the marathon I'm training for.....and I know that other runners out there underestimate the purity of running.  They expect it to be like professional sports, or american idol, or congress for that matter...where cheating and who you know matters rather than character and work ethic. 

In its purest form, running can demonstrate ones character better than a conversation or a hand shake....and as I completed my 20 mile run and joined my husband and 2 dogs for brunch, I smiled a little inside, knowing that I put my whole self into something.  While others slept, I woke up and took that first step toward renewed confidence and the knowledge that I have already done more than I ever thought I could do.

         

Thinking about change....

Its amazing how much changes in what seems like such a short amount of time.  New jobs, new friends, new ideas.....more accurately.....new perspectives on old ideas, old friends, old jobs.  I've been thinking a lot about how much my perspective has changed, specifically on my career, and on my marriage. 

When things are difficult, the child in you thinks that they will always be difficult.  You throw a tantrum, either literally or metaphorically, and you ask whoever is listening for relief.  You make a decision to endure or to quit.....and I have never been much for quitting.  So I endure....with my eyes on the horizon....watching for the change that I want so badly to come.  Slowly, as the days go by, what may have been tough or too much to handle becomes normal.  I take my eyes off the horizon.  I keep moving forward and forget that things weren't always this way...that there is something better....something beautiful.  Suddenly, things do improve...change comes like a bucket of cold water to the face, and the relief and joy that follows feels foreign and undeserved.  How can this be?    

Career
In leaving an old position that was stressful and an unhealth time-suck on my life and my marriage, I have moved into something far more healthy for me.  Though I know this place IS NOT the old place and I know these people ARE NOT the old people...why is it that the anticipation of something awful is constantly just below the surface?  I had let my eyes leave the horizon for just a moment, and in doing so, forgot that something better....something beautiful existed beyond it.  Half of me shuffled along, trudging through the negativity and nothingness while the other half of me was trying desperately to shake myself awake and throw the bucket of cold water...."Wake up!"  I did wake up, and moved on.....with a healthy dose of skepticism and a side of guilt tucked away in my pocket.  I just started a new job, and things are great.  My skepticism whispers..."Can they really be this great?"  My guilt mumbles...."You left a lot of people behind."  Thought I would be starting fresh, but my past followed me, tugging at my ankle saying, "Remember me?"     

Marriage
Been through some tough stuff....really tough....but we've made it to the other side.  It finally feels like the clouds have lifted and the sun is shining in.  Truly, I never thought we would make it here.  When we were in the midst of the storm, I never thought the rain would subside...but it did.  We endured together and navigated our path.....and we made it.  Marriage is a funny thing.....especially for young people.  When everything society screams, "Quit!" my heart and my morals calmly say, "Stay."  We both had to endure.  We both had to trudge through the mud and muck of each others struggles and look to the horizon with faith that we would make it.  

I will be running a marathon in 22 days.  Much of the past year has felt like I've not only been training to run 26 miles, but to endure and navigate the ups and downs of life.  I have tested my body and pushed it beyond what I ever thought I could endure.  Months ago, I never thought I would be able to go the distance.  But here I am.  I have endured.  The same is true for life.  I pushed myself beyond what I thought was possible.  I jumped and believed that a net would appear....and it did.   

Staying Sane