I have a good amount of friends. I consider this a huge blessing and one that I’m quite sure I don’t always deserve. More and more as I get older, I’m surrounded by good people. People of all different backgrounds and beliefs influence and support me. I like to believe I choose them but most the time, I just get caught up in feeling lucky that they chose me.

This is especially true with one of my friends, Jill. Jill is magnetic. That’s the only way to describe her. She’s cute without being intimidating, honest without being brash. She can talk to anyone and more importantly, she will make you feel like she wants to talk to you, what you have to say is the most important information she’s ever heard. Jill is delightful, hilarious and understanding at all the right times. She’s one of those people that if given the chance to wrap her mind around something, you can consider it done. She just makes it work and I have no idea how.

Jill is also my best running buddy, which means she and I talk quite a lot- what else is there to do on a long run? She listens to me like you’d expect any good friend to but she’s also really good about not letting me dwell on anything I can’t control. She makes sense of my trials and tribulations and by the next mile, we’ve moved on. Once, when we were talking about relationships, I asked her if she thought I’d always be single. “No! Of course not,” she said. “If you were ugly or a freak, that would be one thing but you’re not, so don’t worry.” And then she changed the subject. It’s not that she doesn’t think life should be examined, just not over examined, which is one of my favorite ways to pass the time.

A few days ago, Jill and I were invited to the same party. We’d scheduled to arrive at the same time so that we could have a chance to see each other and catch up- we’re both busy and with me not running lately, our time together has been scarce. Neither of us knew anyone very well at this party so it was more of an appearance and an excuse to hang out together.

We arrived, greeted the hosts, found ourselves some drinks and sat down to catch up. Within twenty minutes, several people had stopped by to say ‘hi.’ These were people neither Jill nor I knew but somehow, they felt the need to come over. I guess there is some power to two women in dresses keeping to themselves. Anyhow, it was nice to chat and meet new people but once Jill and I get talking, there’s no end. So, we attempt to exercise our manners and involve the visitors in the conversation but we carried on. It didn’t work for long.

Soon, people were gathering. It’s that magnetic Jill. We’re telling jokes and stories and shaking hands and before you know it, we are not at the party, we are the party. It was fun and since Jill is married, I get all the single guy deflection. No complaints here. But sometimes, maybe because I’m selfish or maybe just because I’m a girl, I just want to hang out with my friend.

Goodbye took quite a while due to all our new-found friends but we finally made it to the door. I said my thanks and nice to meet yous but what I really wanted to say was next time, bring your own cool friend! This one, thank you very much, is mine.

Good: Awesomely successful fund-raiser on Friday night.
Bad: Stayed up all night until 8:00 the next morning.
Gross: The women who think it’s okay to not wear a bra, in public.

Good: Slept until 2:00 p.m. Saturday and then went to have dinner and margaritas on a patio.
Bad: No chemistry with the doctor. (Though the jury is still out on whether or not this is actually a bad thing. Friendship, fun, blah blah, you know.)
Gross: The kooky guy that put his foot on the table mere inches from my plate to show us his ankle bracelet collection. Seventeen years of collecting! Can ya believe it!

Good: Beautiful day at the parent’s house today.
Bad: My mother making me look at craft books with her for an hour.
Gross: Macramae.

Good: Steaks on the grill.
Bad: Neighbor leaning over the fence and yelling: “How are you, dear? Married yet?”
Gross: A fly landing and getting stuck in your ice cream. Gag.

Good: A walk with the dog in the park.
Bad: I can’t think of anything bad about this.
Gross: People who don’t pick up after their dogs.

Good: Coming home and cooking new, experimental recipes. (Added bonus: lunches for the week.)
Bad: Peanut butter cupcakes. Taste great, look like the park where people don’t pick up after their dogs. Will have to try again.
Gross: Tofu Shirataki Noodles. I tried, I really did. But they are disgusting, in a gelatinous, don’t-heat-me-unless-you-want-a-blob-of-noddles-for-dinner sort of way.

Good: I GET TO RETURN TO RUNNING THIS WEEK! The ankle and the knee are cooperating and seem to be healing. Doctor agrees. Tomorrow: elliptical machine, Tuesday: 3 miles, Wednesday: Conquer the world! Positive thinking.
Bad: Fear that I may not be better yet. Bad thoughts. Bad.
Gross: When people talk about knee surgery.

Good: Recapping a good weekend.
Bad: The weekend is always too short.
Gross: Tofu Shirataki Noodles. Gag! Seriously. They are that bad. Trust me.

I had another post in mind when I woke up this morning.

It’s been forty five minutes though and now, that subject matter seems a little depressing. And if there’s any good reason to not be depressed, it’s the weekend. It’s going to be a busy one with a huge charity event tonight that is the “big one” that all the little ones along the way have led to. I’m so proud of our committee. I’m so stunned by the generosity. I’m so glad it’s going to be over.

It’s also Father’s Day weekend. A celebration for some, a difficult time for others. Whatever your experience with your father may be, I hope you know having you as a child is the best thing he ever did, whether he told you or not.

Have a good Friday, everyone. I’m off to work and grateful that I don’t dread it.

When I was younger, I was known as a bit of a “ham.” I was shy at first but once you got to know me, oh boy was I fun! Depending on the occasion, I could always be counted on to sing, dance or perform in some way that would amuse those around me. If someone wanted to put on a play for their parents, I wrote, directed and produced an entire story in a matter of minutes. If a girl wanted to write a poem for the boy she liked, I taught her how to read it out loud and make it rhyme. I had all kinds of big ideas and all anyone had to do was say the word. I did this for many years until I realized a. I had absolutely no talent and b. people weren’t going to be nice about it forever.

The last time I remember this happening was when I was fourteen and on a road trip with my best friend and her mom, brother and sister. We drove from Colorado to Phoenix and stayed with her aunt and uncle.

Her uncle was going through a hard time and the rest of us decided we’d throw a little party to cheer him up. We decided on the beach party/barbecue theme. My first big idea was that we play Jimmy Buffet music all night. It only snowballed from there.

While my friend’s mom and aunt worried about the cooking and decorating, my friend, her siblings and I decided we’d put on a little show for everyone. Conveniently, one of the uncle’s favorite songs was “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and if four kids singing about meat didn’t cheer him up, nothing would.

We spent the next four hours working on our show (and by we, I mean me). We had parts and solos; even choreography. We made up some costumes and by show time, we were really feeling like entertainers.

The adults all knew we had worked hard so they made a big deal. They dimmed the lights, we took our places (in front of the fireplace- center stage in any home) and the music started. We belted our little hearts out about our carnivorous habit, lettuce and tomato and paraaadiiiiiiiiise. Not too particular, not too precise, really. But we were proud and the standing ovation we received convinced us we were a success.

A few days ago, I ran into my friend. We got to talking about family and her aunt and uncle in Phoenix. They always remember our little Parrothead show and they tell stories about it to this day. I thought I told this story best but I was wrong, because when they tell the story, they also show the video.

Whew!

You know that feeling, when the sky seems a little brighter and the edges seem a little smoother? Well I’m starting to feel that. I’m starting to get out of the funk. It may seem like this whole funk thing was pretty quick, which makes me seem bipolar, but it was not. It was slow moving and took several days to run it’s course. My own little Tropical Depression, except without anything tropical (which probably would have solved the problem in the first place).

Anyhow, I’m glad it’s decided to move on. I’m going to blame it on hormones and my current forced state of rest. I know full well that it hasn’t completely disappeared but I can feel it leaving and that is a good feeling. I suspected it would, I just didn’t know when.

I can honestly say, though, that I experienced something with this funk that I never had before. I received an email from “Jimmy” informing me that my posts were “boring.”

While I know it’s not enjoyable and entertaining to read about how some girl in Colorado can’t seem to feel better, last time I checked, no one’s paying me to be entertaining. What’s here is what’s here, what do you want me to do? Obviously, by offering up an e-mail address I’m open to this kind of inquiry. What I can’t understand, though, is why anyone would care that much.

Jimmy also asked me what I thought my purpose here was.

Here’s an excerpt:

Your posts have been boring lately. It’s like you don’t care. One day, you’re entertaining the next you’re not. What are you trying to do on your blog? Do you want to be funny? Or do you want to be serious? Is your blog about running? Is your blog about dating? Is your blog about being single? What?

I almost replied, but why reply to one when you can spout off about it to all?

I know whatever I write here isn’t about one thing. But it doesn’t have to be about anything. Sometimes it’s about work, sometimes it’s about running, sometimes it’s about dating and sometimes it’s about nothing. No one needs approval to write about their life on the internet. Unless they want to make money, then I think it’s just a matter of finding a niche.

I started this about six months ago and out of the hundred or so posts, I’d say I really only like five or six of them. I don’t expect anyone else to like them, either.

Anyway, most days what makes this thing fun is the other people’s blogs I get to read. I would never think of demanding something more from them. I like them so much, in fact, the only complaint I’d have for them is they don’t post enough.

“Hi, good to have you here.”

That’s what I said to the new guy at work. What I felt like saying is “hi, I’m a major bitch, I’m grouchy and everyone is leaving me alone today. Take note.”

Because lately, I’m just in a funk.

I haven’t been able to run in eight, yes eight, looooong days and it’s starting to take it’s toll. The injury from this little comedy of errors is still haunting me. Along with not being able to run (or bike, or elliptical, for that matter), I’m in almost constant pain. I swear, I don’t know how sufferers of chronic pain live. My ankle pain is connected to my knee pain. My knee pain is connected to my lower back pain. My lower back pain is connected to my shut up or I’ll smack your stupid ass. Pain.

I’ve been to the doctor. And the massage therapist. And the chiropractor. While they all offered some kind of temporary comfort, none of them offered a good solution. So, I’m stuck fighting the battle with time. Rest time in June sucks, really bad.

To add insult to injury, literally, I’m not eating normally. In an effort to not become a larger version of myself during this down time, I’m refusing things that I’d normally not even blink about eating. “No thanks” is not my usual response when someone offers me cake. That is not my idea of fun, at all. I know it will be better in the long run but right now, no cake does not a happy girl make.

While I could blame this funk only on my injured and pissed off body, I think it’s more than that. I can’t put my finger directly on it- not that I ever can- but something is off. I’m feeling all angsty like some seventeen year-old girl wondering if her boyfriend really does love her.

The phone rings and without even a glance at the caller ID, I say words that should only be uttered by a sailor and chuck it across the room. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything nice to say. I have a date with a nice guy and I wear nice shoes and I come home without even so much as a butterfly. I’m two weeks away from a really hard test and studying is the last thing on my mind. I still find a way to make myself do it, but it’s not as exciting as it was six weeks ago.

I just need to wait it out. I remember, I was funny once. Just week or two ago, I had a good attitude. I could find the good in a bad day and all that happy-go-lucky behavior came so easily. It’s no wonder I held onto the dream from my last post so tightly; feelings like that have been hard to come by lately. I want to be settled and calm and I’m just not. The tightness in my stomach and my chest won’t go away. I feel myself surrendering to the frustration and all I can do is tell myself that tomorrow will be different.

Update: I read this post about a week after posting and, well, barf. But oh well, you know, write it, love it, own it… blah blah blah.

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Last night I had a dream that really wasn’t anything special. It was me, living my life just as I’ve imagined it. Unfortunately, as they say, life never turns out the way you dream it.

First, it was a late summer afternoon and I sat amongst hundreds of others and watched a baseball game. Everything seemed so real. I could hear the crack of the bat and the voices in the crowd. I could feel the summer breeze on my face and the warmth of the body next to me.

Like you tend to do in dreams, I jumped from scene to scene without much logic. Next, I was in a store, looking for wrapping paper. I found what I needed and headed to leave. There was no line at the check out, which is a dream in itself. I chatted with the cashier and before I left she said, “Oh, by the way, Congratulations.” I thanked her, although I have no idea why I deserved congratulating.

The final “scene” in the dream was in a restaurant. It was very busy and a lot of people were just walking around, mingling. A party, maybe? I walked across the room to try to find a drink and ran into some friends. In reality, I’ve never met these people before but it seemed so normal as I greeted them. I told one woman she looked great- she was pregnant, again. I seemed to know all about them and they me. It was all very comfortable.

I was not alone throughout this dream. Though faceless, there was someone with me the entire time. A man. Dare I say it, THE man. The entire dream felt so natural and reassuring. I was there, doing the things I normally do, just as I imagined it. No, I don’t know who this person was, I just know that he was.

It really is too bad they say life doesn’t happen like you dream it. It’s consolation, though, that I’ve also heard them say that it turns out even better.