WTF

I have no idea what I’m doing writing.  I have about 300 things I need to get done for work, and I need to leave early. I don’t even have a coherent topic or intention with writing right now.  It’s very possible this will just end up being ramblings.  But writing seems to be what the mind wants right now.

Of course I’m annoyed. I’m always annoyed.

I’m annoyed at every possible outcome of two of my friends having suddenly found guys they like.  In both cases, they have gone from bitching about life to me constantly to spouting fairy farts and pixie dust constantly.  In both cases, they don’t even really know the guy,.  In both cases, I wouldn’t be surprised if things work out perfectly for them, and I’ll be fucking annoyed that they spend no time and exert no effort or money on finding and developing a relationship, meanwhile… My fucking life…. AND in both cases, I won’t be surprised if the guys disappear and they go spinning back down their self-pitiful hole.  Classic manic depressive situation.

I’m annoyed with the drama at running club.  My weekday pace group is comprised of 4 dysfunctional leaders and about 20 unhappy followers.  Of the leaders, two are acting like teenage girls who both want to be queen of the class, and the other two are kinda caught in the middle and either won’t or can’t exert corrective forces.  One of the teen queens (both of whom are in their mid-late 30s, actually) is just not really a people person, tends to push the pace a bit, and usually comes off as abrasive (not intentionally, but it happens).  The other teen queen is basically lazy, wants to run at whatever pace she feels like running that day, and desperately wants to feel important. One of the remaining two is frazzled by the conflict between the teen queens and overly stressed about it, and the other, I basically just never hear from.  Altogether, it makes for an unhappy experience a lot of the time.  I don’t like creating confrontations, but if people don’t figure out how to act their age soon, I’m going to end up getting pissed off and making a very public example of this being how a pace group should NOT operate.

I made rules for training.  They are a good set of rules.  I took my time thinking about them and making sure they cover the things I think they should cover.  I refined them to be brief, but complete. They are easy to understand, easy to follow, and will lead to success for my racing, and my mental health.

And I promptly ignored all of them. Which is fucking annoying.

Yes, that’s right.  Hard fail on every single rule.

  1. fail… Just… in so many ways. I ALMOST got half of it right, the half about not coming to work in altered mental states.  But then I didn’t. And I spent too much time attending to women this weekend rather than attending to my own business.
  2. This is supposed to be the easy one.  All I have to fucking do is drink more water. That’s it.  WTF.
  3. I might have been in bed by 9:30 once, but definitely didn’t turn the lights out till way late.  I HAD the thoughts of “I should go to bed,” and of “I should just turn the lights out,” but there I was, at 11:00, being stupid.  I can’t even blame it on my legs being sore or anything.  Despite the running friday night AND saturday morning, I did enough self-care that they feel pretty okay.
  4. I did not keep the routine.  I missed my bike ride sunday because I didn’t execute my other responsibilities efficiently.  Side projects took too long and I spent too much time socializing. I kept the rest of the routine, but I am reluctant to pat myself on the back for that because the routine is the BASE of what I need to be doing… I really ACTUALLY need to do more than that if I’m going to be successful.
  5. How many days this week did I eat a generally healthy diet? Well, if my goal is to eat right 6 days a week, I only need to do better on 5 more days out of the week.
  6. Three of seven days for abs is pretty bad.  Especially since my goal is pathetically easy to accomplish.  I only actually intend to hold myself accountable for 5-10 minutes of abs a day.  That’s basically 45 minutes a week spread over all 7 days.  IT’S NOT FUCKING HARD!!!
  7. rest recover rest relax rest  BWAAAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHA!!!!!!!!! So friday is a rest day. Don’t overbook yourself and commit to too much.  Make sure you have time for your goals, and to rest and recuperate. You’ll end up in a worse place mentally and physically if you wear yourself down too hard.  Rest. No excuses, no exceptions.

…Except if the Main Woman asks me to do her a favor and run the last 5 of her 14 miles with her to keep her company.

…And except if she also asks me to dogsit for her, which complicated my weekend and took up a lot of time and energy.

…..and also except if I have no real reason for having stayed up super late every night either just fighting myself going to sleep or talking to someone I’m not even sure I have the ability to be interested in.

8. I was supposed to lift at work, and I even brought my gear to do it.  I brought it in twice, actually.  And I still failed.

9.  I kind of did statics at home for about 7 minutes one day.  That’s pretty sad.  Again, my goal here is like 45 minutes, once a week.  That’s not fucking hard.  And it’s going to pay off when I am faster and stronger.  It’s going to pay off when I am less injury prone.  It’s going to pay off when I just FEEL better.

10.  I have spent a lot of time thinking about if I have taken care of my mind and body this week or if I honestly just haven’t.  On one hand, I haven’t done anything truly destructive.  I rolled my ankle during my run, but was diligent about ice and such afterwards so it seems to be okay-ish.  My diet was in no way GOOD, but it really wasn’t THAT BAD either. I had some good conversations and connections with people, and I got to spend time with a sweet pupper dogger, which is always good for the soul.

But I also spent friday evening not resting, and asking the last woman who ditched me, right after giving me herpes, for a favor so I could do a favor for the woman who ditched me before that; the Main Woman.  Then I spent the weekend having complicated and mostly not great feelings about being in her house; the house that I once used to look forward to visiting. Complicated feelings about sleeping in the bed I once occasionally shared with her. About seeing the birthday and post cards I sent her, not on display, but not thrown away or hidden either.  About all the things you think about when you go back to a place so deeply linked with feelings that never worked out.

I also stayed up late last night drinking with a friend in an effort to try and see if I can have real feelings for anyone.  Why? Why do I need to try and see about that? Is that important? no… maybe I can, maybe I can’t, but no research efforts need to be conducted.  If it happens, it happens. And the answer to that question doesn’t even matter if I’m in a bad place mentally or physically in the first place.

I ate out a lot this week too, which causes me stress. It’s both a drain on my bank account, and typically represents poor dietary choices.  I’d done well with it for a while, but I think a combination of business and laziness got to me.

So yeah… I can’t try to spin that into being be taking care of my body and mind.  So, hard fail on 10/10 rules.

Nice work, kiddo. You’ll be a champ before you know it.
Time to go take the dog out.
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My Bike Has A Name (one of them does, at least)

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Meet Hilda. She’s a badass.

I don’t name all my bikes, and I try to let them name themselves.  My white bike is just “my white bike”, or “the miyata”.  My tandem is just the tandem. My race bike is Sophia, but I mostly call her “race bike”. This morning, however, my new (to me) tri bike named herself.  I’m not claiming the process makes sense… It’s just what happened.

It started in Houston, with my triathlon hero E-$$$ Dawggg.  E-$$$ often calls herself a witch, because she has magical strength and endurance capabilities when she shouldn’t.

Obviously witches ride brooms.

Which led me to “Broomhilda”.  I’m not sure why, because that isn’t even a real name or a real thing.

But “Hilda” is.  And it turns out (shamelessly ripped from Wikipedia):

Screenshot_2018-02-22-09-17-32-1

So, that’s pretty metal, right?

Especially for a pink camo triathlon bike.

Rules for the Season: Be Responsible

I’ve been too sidetracked with the cobwebs lately and need to apply some structure. These are The Rules. Shit… wait…

  1. Business Comes First
  2. Drink more water
  3. 9:30 bedtime 3x/wk
  4. Keep the routine
  5. eat right 6 days a week
  6. abs
  7. REST recover REST relax REST
  8. lift at work
  9. statics at home
  10. TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY AND MIND

Rule 1 carries a larger meaning, to which I will return at another time.

Rule 2 is straightforward. Between all the medicines I take and post run/ride/work beers I have, my liver and kidneys need all the help they can get. I take daily anti-virals, I sweat a lot, I push my body pretty hard.  Drinking enough water helps the body and mind function and helps prevent liver and kidney stress.  Do it.

Rule 3 is because I am not resting enough on a nightly basis.  I still fight myself going to sleep.  I wake up and GET up rather than remaining in bed and trying to continue to relax.  I just need more time between the sheets. (see what I did there?)  If I’m serious about doing well both in my races and in my life, I need to improve my sleep.  It’s as simple as that.  See also: Rule 7.

Rule 4 is about the routine I have established.  It’s the backbone of my training plan and I cannot screw it up.  I MUST keep these workouts if I’m going to have a successful season: Monday: run, swim(bike after April 1), yoga.  Wednesday: run with the club. Thursday: bike with the club. Friday: REST, DAMNIT! Saturday: long run with the club. Sunday: yoga, long ride.

Yes, Tuesdays SHOULD be bike hill repeats, and I need to swim AT LEAST one more time per week eventually.  But Rule 4 is about keeping the consistency. Keeping the focus on myself and my goals… my routine, will help me reach my athletic goals, but will also help my mental health stay on track.  Do NOT fuck up the routine, jackass.

That’s not everything I need to do… Rule 6 needs to happen basically every day.  My core needs to have the strength to handle the beating it’s taking.  Rule 8 and Rule 9 are each one day a week. I don’t need to get swole, bruh, but I need to not get hurt, so once a week each. I pick the day, but NOT FRIDAY.  Friday is for Rule 7 and REST.  I over-train; I push too hard and don’t give my body the time to absorb the training and recover.  So, Fridays MUST be rest, and I MUST build rest weeks into my training.  

Rule 5 is because I just can’t seem to be consistent about my diet.  I do really well for a while, but then break down for like 4 days, erase all the progress I’ve made and end up feeling like crap.  Mentally and physically.  I already know I feel better when I eat better, so why the fuck don’t I just do it more?  Oh yeah… beer and pizza… Shit.

Rule 10 means being real, being honest, and not being impulsive.  It’s not pushing too hard physically, not spreading myself too thin with too much socializing.  It means stretching, rolling and massage. It’s keeping my damn apartment clean so I’m less stressed and can breathe better. It means forgiving myself if I screw up, but not letting screw ups become routine. It means taking physical and mental breaks when I need to but also keeping at it (or getting back to it) when I should.  No excuses.

If I was to narrow this down more, it would be Rule 1, Rule 2, New Rule 3: get enough rest, fucker, and quit trying to do all that other bullshit.  New Rule 4: get your fucking body together, for real.

Taken one step further, the rules become what we tell ourselves to do:

Be fucking responsible, not a moron.

Part 2: I Had a Point

From Ridiculoussunglasses to Running Doctor, in response to Part 1: Marathon Self Doubt

I had a point before.  I had several, actually. I had the point that I was reinventing myself and that this was going to solve all of my longstanding internal problems.  I had the point that I was going to do something I thought was impossible, and that would mean I could do ANYTHING I think is impossible, including being okay with myself.  I was going to write about it and document it and have this story journal that showed my transformation, too (which is part of why I got this computer… to write). I had a point before.

I completely failed to accomplish that point. I DID do something that I thought was impossible for me, and also watched everything else remain just as impossible as ever. The main thing I ‘reinvented’ was some bone tissue in my right tibia after I broke it.  And more than half of what I write for my blog ends up being unreadable whining.  Sure, I learned a lot and am healthier, which was also part of the point, but let’s be real here… those are the equivalent of the finisher’s medal… “Thanks for showing up!… Great Try!” The point was to get a spot on the podium (reinvention), hardware (being okay with myself) and a prize check (journal documenting triumph).  LOLFail. Fail SO SO hard. Fail again.

Having my parents there for the Pig last year was kinda cool.  It did feel good to have them out there, and it gave me a boost on the course, for sure.  It felt sort of pointless at the end, though.  They had no real concept of what it was like for me. I actually would have preferred them not to be there [at the end].  It was also pointless and felt stupid to have them at my triathlon other than the fact that I needed someone to drive me home.  And really, any of the pride I took in having them there or the good feelings I had about it all was more because I thought it was this process of change and reinvention and blah blah blah blah blah (see every post ever…)

So why the hell am I back here, lining up for a full marathon?  I had a point before with the half, but realized that point wasn’t achievable or even actually related in any way to running or even triathlon.  I don’t even really honestly love running.  Not like I like swimming and definitely not like I like biking.  Sure, I like certain moments in most runs, but on the whole, I’d still choose biking every time, especially if Ihad as good a group of people with me for it.  SO WHY AM I HERE?
I don’t really know.

I keep telling people it’s because it’ll be a good base for the rest of the year, and that I want to get a marathon under my belt for doing a full ironman someday.  These aren’t false statements.  But I also know when I’m bullshitting someone, and I feel like I’m bullshitting whenever I am saying that.  It’s not that I don’t want to do other races, or a full IM some day. I do. But take a step back… the question is “Why?”

What am I trying to prove? What am I getting out of racing? And especially out of such a brutally long distance? I already know could condition myself enough to get to the finish. I’d just become a training robot for a while, and I have shut myself into robot mode enough times in my life that it isn’t hard for me.  If I decided that’s what I’m doing, the ‘accomplishment’ wouldn’t be that crazy in my mind. So why do it?  I already proved that what I WANT to get from racing isn’t possible. I already proved that my body isn’t really suited for this kind of workload or pounding. I lost the romance of “doing the impossible” after I realized that anyone who does a decent amount of training can do a half distance tri, and a full is just more of the same. It’s like a PhD, or a master trade certification, or digging a really big hole.  You don’t have to actually be good at anything or smart or special in any way. You just have to put in the time. And pretty much anyone who puts in the time will eventually get there.  Now, this isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of brilliant doctors, master technicians, mining engineers, and amateur triathletes too. There are obviously people who excel more than others in these time-intensive fields.  But I’m not going to excel more than others at a marathon, or a triathlon… I’m just the guy who put in the time.  The one at the back of the class that annoys the piss out of you because he gets the same degree (finisher medal?) even though he’s not actually good at it.

And anyway… why marathon? A marathon isn’t cooler or more badass to me than a half ironman.  And I think triathlons are more fun. I could potentially be kind of good at triathlons… Maybe…. Someday…. If I somehow accomplish those first two original points.  LOLJK… that’ll never happen.

So, I don’t know what I’m doing.  But I think NOT doing it might be worse. I’m more scared of having to tangle with whatever beast would take the place of the marathon than I am of tangling with the beasts: training, potential injury, and potential failure.  Also, it’s just what seems to be the thing for me to do right now.  Like there’s an inexplicable force pulling me into doing this marathon…  Some sort of cosmic pull… I dunno… Maybe I just have a weird thing that I need to follow through  even though I’m usually high as shit when I sign up for races. I don’t know.  But whatever dumbass psycho-spiritual bullshit is going on in my head, I’m doing it.

And I know if I’m going to run a marathon, I’m going to need help. I can’t do it alone.  And…

And I know part of that is going to be that I’m going to need to be there for you, and for the rest of our running family.  I know I depend on you guys, especially you [Running Doctor], so I also know you all depend on me, which gives me some strength, in a weird way.  So I know if I’m doing it, I’m going to be helping you (plus, if I don’t have that to focus on, I’ll think about myself too much and implode.  It could be a literal implosion too… it could get very messy).

I don’t have any answers for you about marathons.  But you already knew that.

I don’t really have any answers about most aspects of my life (which you also knew).  But… Like the marathon, it’s all still real, and still happening, and that’s that.

[I like these.  I might use them.  I’m pretty drunk right now, though, so we’ll have to see how they look in the morning.]

Part 1: Marathon Self Doubt (from Running Doctor)

From Running Doctor to Ridiculoussunglasses:

I’m searching for a pen.  Blue ran out.  Red seems too angry.  I always write in purple.  The orange is too hard to read.  That’s how this ended up green.  And I’m drinking wine.  Still.  One glass somehow turns into one bottle.  Every damn time.  Overachiever?  Finish what I started? Does this count as a super power?  My handwriting is deteriorating with the wine.  All that time spent finding a pen and I need a keyboard.  When my computer died I decided to get a new one.  People questioned why I needed one.  Get an iPad.  Use your phone. “I need to write,” I tell them.  I hardly write anymore.  But, I need that option.  I need that chance.  Even if it’s with a red pen drowning in white wine.

I’ve signed up for my third full marathon and I’m already having buyer’s remorse.  It’s in 3 months.  That’s a lot of time to think about what I’ve done. “You’ve already finished two,” people say.  But, I didn’t finish them well.  And I definitely didn’t have fun.  Each time I crossed the finish line my first thought was, “Never again.”  And here we are – again.  My family doesn’t get it.  Most of my friends don’t get it.  Some days I don’t even get it. 

Last Saturday’s long run wasn’t easy.  That’s when I start losing faith in myself.  There seem to be more hard runs than easy runs lately.  Maybe it’s the cold.  Maybe it’s all in my head.  Or maybe it’s my heavy legs.  Stop eating lead for breakfast, it goes right to your ankles. 

I asked my mom if she would consider going to my race.  I mean, she went to all my sister’s boyfriend’s band’s gigs. “Your races are too early and I’m a night person,” she said.  But, like I won’t be done till noon and you don’t have to be there the WHOLE time.  Just like the end.  That would be cool.  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.  I could hear all the excuses about not wanting to go downtown and I could feel a visceral reaction bubbling up from the depths of my own self-doubt.  And I knew I had to get out of there before I completely fell apart.  Melt down in three, two, one… So, my parents don’t get it.  My siblings are busy with their own families and lives.  Although, I have no doubt they would love to stand on a course for hours just to tell me to eat shit (in the most loving way possible) and that I was complete idiot for doing this multiple times (also in the nicest way possible).  My friends don’t get it.  Especially when I say I can’t hang out long on Fridays because I have to be up corn-picking early to run a ridiculous number of miles in the dark winter weather.  I mean, that does sound fairly insane.  I don’t blame them.  But my parents…?  They sat through lollipop soccer for years.  A marathon finish line has got to be better than that. 

That visceral reaction my mom triggered?  I feel it every now and again on long runs.  I have no idea when it’s coming. But, when it does, I just want to crawl out of my own skin.  Somehow distance myself from distance running and my own choices.  And what is with this self-doubt?  Is there some core value not aligning with short term goals?  What is happening here?  Is it because this probably will be my last marathon?  Is it because I want to do marginally better in case it is?  Is this going to be three strikes and I’m out or is it going to be third time is a charm? 

I’m doing almost everything I should this time around.  Cutting back on contact soccer.  Going to the gym.  Running.  A lot.  Cross training.  Some.  Thinking about eating better.  Am I scared because – what if I do everything right and still fall apart at Frisch’s Mainliner?  Right where the course becomes boring and the crowd support thins.  I remember my last full marathon.  It was shortly after my Papa passed away.  I was hitting the wall hard and I gave myself a pep talk about how I needed to do this for Papa.  Clear as day I could hear his laugh, insinuating he had nothing to do with this and would love me the same either way.  Fuck, I can’t even pep talk right.

What I do have going for me this time is an anniversary race in my hometown surrounded by my running family. They get it.  They don’t completely understand it all the time. They definitely don’t understand me all the time.  But, they get it.  By “get it” I mean we clearly run for the beer and pizza.  That’s probably the clearest goal I can peg down.  But, really.  I feel like I’ll know enough people at any point along the course (runners and spectators) and if I carry an extra phone battery to Pinterest motivational memes at will, and my broken legs hold together, I can get through this one more time.  Mostly to remind myself that it is, in fact, this bad every damn time, and to race shorter distances which I’m able to run effectively.

People keep asking me about a time.  Finish line, not finish time.  And uninjured please.  I’m also worried about how long it will take my legs to come back.  I raced two halves in 6 days in the fall and posted a PR and my third fastest time.  The first marathon it took a month for my legs to come back.  I remember setting out to run 9 miles two weeks after the marathon.  I was at a sluggish pace and just kept slowing down until I crumpled into a ball of self-loathing 4 miles from the car.  Phone a friend for a ride.  The second one I felt normal within a couple weeks and even cranked out my fastest 5K time to that point three weeks later.  So, maybe this one will go better?  Or maybe it won’t. 

Some days I think I’ll run forever, other days I think I’m ready to retire.  That may say more about my personality than my running.  Speaking of running.  I’ve run out of wine again.  I don’t want to open another bottle.  750ml single serving.  I’ve got a belly full of wine, a desk full of colored pens and no answers about marathons. Marathon?  26.2 miles? Overachiever? Finish what I started?  Does this count as a super power?  This uncertainty is the worst. 

 

Tomorrow: “Part 2: I Had A Point (from Ridiculoussunglasses)”

Steady State (from October 2017)

I step out the door onto wet pavement. I adjust my visor, press the headphones into my ears a little more and hit the button on my watch. As I make my way up the street I feel my muscles begin to tighten, then to slowly loosen up. The damp air feels thick and heavy, yet cool and fresh. With each turn on these old streets, I take in the brilliant fall colors offered up by mother nature. Reds as bright as any fire truck, oranges that are almost neon and leaves so intensely yellow that I squint against their brightness as I run over a fallen carpet of them.

Beads of moisture begin to collect on my brow and run down the back of my neck. My route isn’t predetermined, but rather charted ad-lib, based partly on some subconscious internal cosmic gravity, and mostly on which crosswalks end up being conveniently timed. My breathing and cadence settle into a rhythm as I begin to reach Steady State Running. My eyes start to unfocus and the meditation begins.

Songs tick past as miles tick by, and my legs begin to tire, but my gait is steady and my stride is smooth. I feel strong. Thoughts meander into and out of my mind, like the water of a stream round a bend. My chest rises and falls. Leaves crunch under my feet and the rich smells of fall fill my head. Sweat drips at a steady interval from my visor now, returning the life that I have borrowed to the earth from whence it came.

People That Hurt – Part 2: Hurt – (adj.)

Hurt (adj.)
1. injured, or feeling physical pain

2. feeling emotional pain, usually because of someone’s behavior

Hurt is like a disease. There are dozens of different kinds of hurt, though they’re all similar, like different strains of the same virus.  Someone can give it to you, which is what Part One is about, but you can also just pick it up somewhere.  It can come as the consequence of life circumstances.  You can just be predisposed to it.  No matter how it starts, the hurt virus gets inside you and lives and grows; and if it’s bad, sometimes it changes and evolves until it is no longer an action. It’s no longer hurtING… Hurt goes from being a verb, to being an adjective.  Hurt becomes a characteristic, like blonde hair, or broad shoulders.

People who hurt mostly suffer the consequences in silence and alone. Mostly we pretend like the pain doesn’t exist and try to maintain who we were before. We don’t usually talk about it, not out loud, at least. We put on a show for the rest of the world when really we are just a few pieces taped together roughly in the shape of a person. We pay our bills. We do our work. We occupy the space we are supposed to… our seats at a concert… place at the table… role in the team… But we aren’t really there. Not completely.

We wonder if we’ll ever be NOT broken again.  There is a constant search for some way past the hurt.  We question if we’ve forever lost the ability to trust, to really enjoy life, to love and BE loved… to thrive.  The hurt ones wonder if we’ll ever have value to ourselves, let alone anyone else.  Who could care about someone who is so damaged and dirty?(even though we know consciously that we aren’t)  We grasp at the notion that it could all be okay someday and try to force ourselves to believe it and hope for the day when we wake up and the darkness is gone.

That’s not to say there is necessarily resignation.  We go on in whatever way we can. We still do things. People talk to us and we give advice. We honestly really do still really do care about things. It’s not like we suddenly become zombies incapable of feeling anything other than anguish, disgrace and languor, though there is a lot of that. We keep most of our hobbies. We just hurt while we do it. So, we distract ourselves from the hurt. Sometimes by running away. We write about riding, drinking, running. We try to convince ourselves that it’ll be okay if we just are patient. We try to define ways of looking at our world that make it brighter, and rules to help us avoid making future mistakes. We don’t enjoy things the way we once could; we hurt, but we still try. Like Running Doctor says, If we stop trying, what do we have left??

So what’s the point? What’s the solution? What’s the message?

First off… I don’t know what. If you want a flowery, optimistic message, look here. This is not that.  These are observations.

Yeah, some people eventually succumb to the hurt. Marco Pantani, Ernest Hemingway, Junior Seau, Robin Williams, Dave Mirra, David Foster Wallace, Ryan Freel. There are plenty of examples of people whose greatness and ultimately death alike, were clearly driven by their hurt. Look them up.  It’s worth learning their stories.

Untimely demise isn’t the only outcome though… let’s not be dramatic and fatalistic…

This whole project is about coping and talking about it.  I guess I think that’s the best we can hope for.  It means we are still trying; we’re still fighting the fight.  It helps to hear that even some of the highest achievers… Michael Phelps, Jerry West, Brandon Marshall… are fighting the same fight.  The last 6 weeks and HSV have taught me a lot about stigma, and there’s just as much stigma about mental health.  Having some high profile people open up about it helps out the rest of us.

People not being assholes also helps.

I don’t have the answer to what the meaning of hurt is or how to ultimately live with it. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing this. Furthermore, there aren’t just two categories; perpetrators and victims. I’ve hurt people too, and the fact that I have BEEN hurt doesn’t make it okay.  We’re pretty much all guilty on some level. Hurt is a mess. I don’t know what the point, the solution or the message is.  Like said, these are observations.

I’m observing that I’m hungry.  And I want to ride my bike.