Blog

I’ve spent the last two and a half hours reinstalling my operating system, which had somehow become corrupted, and now I’m having the dickens of a time logging on to the internet. I’m finally in, but I think the nefarious spyware has latched on to my computer’s innards. I have a strong feeling spyware is a catchall phrase, much like shin splints. My computer keeps throwing all these OFFICIAL, IMPORTANT, READ THIS AND CLICK THIS LINK TO GET RID OF SPYWARE SO YOU DON’T DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH pages at me from my System Administrator, only I can’t help thinking my sys admin would have better grammar. So I ain’t clickin’, but if anyone’s got a good way of dealing with this, lemme know. I need to find a very very small, very very smart child and send him into the depths of my HP Pavilion with a scrub brush. The 21st century American equivalent of the chimney sweep child labor force of 18th century England.

Erg.

But while ye olde laptop was chugging away, resetting itself (bless its electronic neurons and CD backups), I was forced to use the phone. I got a ton of things done, those phone calls I’ve been putting off, like calls to credit card companies. My mortgage broker (isn’t it funny that I have one of those and yet have no mortgage?) thought I should call my credit cards and ask them to raise my credit limit without checking my credit score, as a courtesy. I need to get my score raised by one measly point. Welp, those phone answerers answered the way you might think, with incredulity and a remarkable lack of politeness. Providian and CitiPlatinum, bite me. Just because I don’t know the rules doesn’t mean you should scoff at me. Simply explain that it doesn’t work that way (even though I bet it COULD, iffen you wanted it to). Don’t get so bitchy that I feel horrible that my silly question has had an impact on your personal and social life.

Double erg.

I believe this calls for ice cream.

So. Anyway.

Ahem.

See, I’m finding it hard to think of what to write today, because I had a good date last night. I know, I’m not dating. You’re totally right. Completely anti-dating, me. But come on, she’s a knitter who plays the banjo in an old-time band. I had to meet her. I was surprised I hadn’t already.

I had fun. That’s all I’m sayin’. (I ‘fessed when I found her blog and anted up with mine, so this is not a secure channel, as we say at work.)

And as we return to our previously scheduled broadcasting, I present to you Brick Joy:

Specs:
Yarn: Fairy Hare Softie: Merino/Angora blend, 4 skeins
Pattern: Debbie Bliss pattern, Cotton for all Seasons
Size: 38in
Gauge: Let’s call it 20st/4in, since I’m too lazy to look it up (to pattern specs).
Needles: 5US

Then I got distracted by the purdy flowers:

And my favorite (for so many reasons), the nicotiana:

Digit tried to help with the photo-shoot:

She ain’t being modeled, not for any shyness factor (you know me better than that) but because she needs a zipper, and I haven’t got around to picking up one yet. And I might not today, either. Today, I’m throwing myself a little Alone Party (at least until I go to work tonight). Yeah, not that anyone would remember this but me, but last week I said Saturday would be my alone day. Then I agreed to work for a friend, all good. Then I said, firmly, assuredly, that Monday would be my alone day. Bethany was supposed to be on the road home to Mom’s that day, and I would hide away, watching TV and knitting and not answering the phone or checking email.

Bethany, however, was such a sweet loving little person yesterday, and did NOT want to leave. We had lunch with Christy and Kira and Rachel at Cafe Colucci (best Ethiopian this side of Harrar), and then went shopping (the other thing I swore I would not do yesterday) at the East Bay Depot for Creative ReUse, which is a fancy name for Place With a Lot o’Junk for Real Cheap.

But dude, I fully scored. Check:

(The chair, not the cat.) And the backs in the sun:

I’ve been eyeing chairs like this to go with my formica table (given to me by my friend Laura), and they usually price out at around fifty bucks each. Kitsch is in. Vinyl is hot. These puppies? I led the green young man up to the front and outside, where five of these were languishing in the sun and dirt, and asked how much. “Geez. I don’t know. Two fifty each? Or all five for ten?” This is the same place I got the Cascade Sierra for fifty cents a skein. Just like last time, I nodded slowly. “Oh, all right. I suppose I’ll take them.”

Rachel helped me spit and polish them—lord, they were dirty—and I’m in love. Look at those legs! Hooray!

Oh. Tangent, sorry. Alone day. Anyway, around five-thirty yesterday I started to ask Bethany what time Mom expected her to arrive (the folks live four hours away).
“I still have to call her,” Bethany said.
“So call her,” I said, sitting on the couch, icing my shins.
“When I get up and find my cell phone.”
“Let me get it for you. Here. I found it for you. Want me to dial?”
She tells Mom she’ll leave in another hour. One hour later I say, “Won’t Mom be upset if you’re late?”
“I just wanna hang out a little longer here with you.”
“But you don’t want to let Mom down…. She’d be so sad.”
“She won’t mind.”
“YOU HAVE TO GO NOW OR I’M GOING TO LOSE MY FREAKING MIND!”
“I’m out.”

Beth’s such a good egg. She didn’t mind that I kinda flipped, and she got out of my hair pretty darn quick after that. Of course, I only had a couple of hours alone before I had to leave for said date, but I regained some composure in those few hours. That alone time, man. I don’t know how you mothers do it. I firmly believe that’s why bathtubs come standard in most homes. They’re an escape. Hey. Good idea. I’m off to escape right now. (Long-ass post. I guess I thought of something to say.)

I can NOT get over that. The first two miles were horrible, as they usually are, and then the next six were a breeze. I mean it. We’re doing a 3:1 pace right now in my group (run three minutes, walk one), and it just felt right. I didn’t mind running when the walk breaks were over (nor did I mind the walk breaks, heavens, no).

It was dark in San Francisco yesterday morning – that deep heavy fog that drips like rain. But at least it was cool. It’s been too warm here in Oakland recently, and it can’t have even hit eighty. I’m such a heat light-weight. (And I want to run a marathon in Hawaii?) And Bethany was a water volunteer, so twice I got to see her smiling proud face, which the run even easier.

The shin splints were uncomfortable, but they’re feeling better already today, always a good sign. It’s going to be an aqua-jog week, unfortunately.

Eight miles. Wheee! And yet, only about a third of how far I’m gonna have to go. Holy crap.

Bethany’s knocking about the apartment, talking and singing, so I’m laughing at her rather than thinking of coherent, clever sentences. (I can’t believe she hijacked my blog! And the perm was bad, yeah. But thank god she didn’t mention the bifocals I was wearing at age six. Oh. Whoops.) And Kira and Rachel just arrived on my doorstep and we’re headed out for Ethiopian, so I’ll just blow you a kees. Mwah!

Super Stealth Mode

Bwah hah hah! Little sister Bethany here, gleefully taking advantage of the fact that Rachael has left me alone in her house with her computer, while she’s off seeing her Girls. So I’m hijacking her blog for the night.

Which still leaves me with the sad fact that I have nothing to write… hmmm. Secrets from childhood? In highschool, she had a really, really bad perm. That’s it, that’s all I have. Guess I’m a pretty pathetic hacker. Johnny Lee Miller I ain’t.

Claudia is my sock twin.

It’s Friday. Even when Friday doesn’t actually mean very much to a person whose schedule is kinda crazy, the word “Friday” just has that feel-good feeling. Doesn’t it?

I’m a little confused, though, timing-wise. I took tonight off (nights off have to be arranged two to three months in advance, so you gotta be a planner) and I’m going to a concert. I’d tell you what the concert is, but you’d either be jealous of me or think I’m an idiot. Okay, quit it. I’ll tell you. I’m going to see the Indigo Girls again. Ahem. What can I say? I lurve them. And I *have* to see them with my sister Christy. She and I have had mad IG love forever, and it’s just not the same seeing them without her.

And I usually have weekend nights off, but I’m working both Saturday and Sunday nights this weekend. We’re so sorely understaffed right now that the only way to take time off is to have friends work for you. I don’t mind working for anyone, really, but there are some people that I actually enjoy working for — they’re the type that not only work for me but do it with a smile. Luckily, though, I’ll be off by one a.m. on Sunday morning, which leaves me enough time for a good little (five hour) sleep before our long run (eight miles this week).

Wait a minute, that was parenthetical, but I have to write more on it. Eight miles! That’s just silly. Dang, I just mapped the distance from my house to work and it’s 7.6 miles. I am at once impressed by that and at the same time completely underwhelmed. Eight miles! Wow! Oh, just eight miles.

I’ve decided, by the way, that Monday is for me. For ME. I’m not doing anything except sitting on my couch and watching all my TiVo’d TV that’s waiting for me, right now, as I type. I actually had to go to work last night with ten minutes left of last week’s Six Feet Under. Isn’t that awful? I love that show *so* much. But I haven’t had much time to sleep lately, and that wins over TV every time. Duh.

All right. See you Monday. Have a happy gazelleish weekend!

I forgot to tell you that I did my long run while in San Diego. See, in training we have to do two three-mile runs during the week on our own, and then the long group run on the weekend, which I do in San Francisco on Sundays.

I talked my friends into running with me, to make up the run I was missing. They’re athletic. They didn’t mind. They’re still in shock that I’m moving my body in ANY way besides small upper body motions (knitting, typing), so this was new and novel for them. They kept glancing behind them while we ran, just to make sure I was really still there.

San Diego was hot. Not super-duper hundred degree hot, but just uncomfortable enough to make me really sweat and feel icky. I didn’t eat before we ran, and I hadn’t been running for the previous ten days in an attempt to let my shin splints heal.

You know what? Neither of those two things worked for me. T took us through Balboa Park, up and down dirt hills, through gullies and ravines. At first I thought it was novel and picturesque. But then I decided it was about four inches from hell.

In order to get our seven miles in, we did one large loop which led back to T’s house, and then we were going to do it again. Oh, no. I collapsed on her lawn and proclaimed to passersby that if I were to ever get up again it would only be to go in search of ice cream and a massage. Then J looked over at me and said the words every wimp hates to hear: “Okay, I’m going to finish the run, I’ll see you later.”

Damn it.

I heaved myself up, cursing and swearing, saying things about camels and various people’s mothers (but not mine, of course), and we started running again. I did put my aching foot down, though, and said that I would not go back into the ravines. I am not hill trained yet, nor do I really wanna be. So we ran around the park, where it was cooler and flatter. They encouraged me by running ahead and then doubling back. Always an esteem builder.

And the splints were killing me (you like how I’m shortening the name now? From posterior tibial tendonitis to splints. We’re pals like that). Ten days off did nothin’ for me, so I’ve decided to throw that whole rest thing right out the window. I’ve got orthotics, insanely good shoes, I’m icing, I’m arnica-gelling, I’m ibuprofening, I’m elevating, I’m compressing, I’m stretching, I’m exercising the muscles that are so gosh-darn weak. I’m not going to be stupid, I promise, but I’m just going to keep running.

I ran yesterday around the lake, and I tell you, it felt awesome to be on home turf. Pounding around the water, I felt so good. The pain wasn’t very bad at all (it usually kicks in later), and it felt great to be moving. Yesterday wasn’t a rhino day. It was all gazelle. A gazelle with a slight limp afterwards, but gazelleish nonetheless. Bring it.