Pushing myself to the limit. Too many job possibilities. So much work to be done. Sleepy. Tired. Exhausted and ready to just have a career. So in need of some vacation. It has been a rough year. Too much sadness. Trouble with money. I hate money. So many jobs. No time. No fun. I just want to be happy. Healthy. Broccoli going bad in the refrigerator. No time to cook. Few hours before it starts again. Need sleep. Just two hours. Can’t wait to find a solution. Work. Responsibility. A lot of pressure. Reality check. Done.

Imua! had always meant forward! to me, in the sense of onward and upward, chin up, catching the tailwind and actually gaining ground to take the race — that was in outrigger canoe paddling. Chanting the word ‘imua’ gave us a collective power to push forward, despite some disheartening and overwhelming circumstances.

From a fascinating website: http://everything2.com/title/Imua+Shantung+Kuntao

These are some definitions of the word IMUA, some nuances I had heard and other permutations I did not know:

“Imua – Hawaiian word meaning ‘to go forward with spirit’ in Shantung, means ’silk’ for fluid movements of self-titled martial arts forms; Imua Shantung KunTao (From now just called Imua) is alledgedly one of the oldest martial arts in the world; …because of its history, Imua developed to have a very tight, fighting range;…a defense system – all training is focused on eliminating your opponents as fast as possible;…neither long-range [karate, kung fu, tae kwon do] nor short-range [akido, judo, jitsu], ‘imua is one of those rare styles that are specially developed for something in between.
“Because of this, fighting somebody who is good at the Imua style can be difficult – the practitioners are always too close to get in a good kick to the head, and always too far away to get in a good throw or wristlock;
…rumored to be used in CIA special agent training.”

To me, it means forward, as in moving ahead without looking back, into a forward creative momentum with fellow collaborators, much like the feeling of racing an outrigger canoe on Hawaiian waters.

Today I woke up late for work.

I helped people find outfits they loved.

I swept up dust and dirt.

I danced to Christmas songs.

I returned my library book.

I ate grilled cheese with Andi.

We watched a movie and laughed.

Uriah and I went to the bookstore.

I read a little about copyright and intellectual property.

Then I came home to the best surprise! My friend, and old college roommate, Mai sent me an early birthday package. SO SWEET! Cho kawaii! It was just a wonderful gesture and I miss her so much! If only Japan wasn’t so far away. It would be nice to walk with her to the library, eat rice crackers and pocky and laugh.

Anyhow I stuffed my feet into the beautiful slippers (I doubt any Japanese women wear size 10 because they are beautiful and petite) and set the calendar on my desk and filled the bag with pens and pencils. I remember when she would have to go to Mahua’s class and she just totally loathed it. Learning English is really only fun if you learn how to swear first and make fun of the other people in your dorm. Learning it from an Indian woman who is fluent in Japanese, and married to a religion and peace studies professor is probably not as much fun. Although we all loved Mahua. Oh I miss Mai!

She was always so much fun–telling me about her classes and leaving notes about how she was going swimming or how she was going out to parties. I’m about 100% sure she went out and had fun way more than me. Occasionally she’d go shopping with Emi and come back with some awesome clothes. When she left I gave her my navy blue hooded sweatshirt and she gave me her favorite gray wool sweater. She used to wear Chanel. So much class. One day, hopefully soon, I’ll be able to fly there and meet her husband and new baby. We’ll go to Hello Kitty world and laugh and dance and swear. Probably not eat grilled cheese, but I’m okay with Pocky and white rice.

Love you, Mai. Thanks for such a nice gift. Yours is on the way. I am having something custom made for your baby.

More later. What a fabulous Saturday.

Arigatou My Mai!

Pure Cussing Genius!

Fantastic Mr. Fox is absolutely enchanting. I would definitely see it again. Thanksgiving was great and I love spending time with Uriah’s family. I have to be at work soon and hopefully all the customers will be on their best behaviors. It’s definitely been a good day.

Fantastic even.

HOORAY! So apparently one of the advertorials I wrote for a hair salon in Staten Island got illegally reprinted in another magazine. Aside from the fact that they will be sued for infringement, I couldn’t be more pleased. I won’t see a penny from it and it’s upsetting that they got business from my words and I won’t get compensated for it a second time, but it is still extremely flattering.

I found out the other day before I went into work and was excited because I keep all my writings and even my handwritten copies–now I feel glad I did. I never thought I’d be so happy about it, but it feels like a compliment.

After 6am and I’m just getting home from work. From here the rest of the year is cake. I’ve got lots of vacation time and a week of required unpaid time off, but I’m looking forward to being free for a while. I’ll be catching up on hours at the store.

That’s where I am off to now. Just to clean and get ready for Black Friday. Then it’s back here to cook the tofurkey and stuffing and pie. Thank goodness Uriah is a much better cook than me. We’ll celebrate the day at his Mom’s house and then it’s time to work on my resume and samples.

Happy Thanksgiving. I’m thankful that my work was infringed upon. I’m sure if I didn’t have corporate lawyers to fight such battles I’d be powerless and upset, but because it is what it is, I’m thrilled.

One of the artists on the team left tonight. He had been there almost as long as me. It was really sad to see him go because I feel like the people at work are as much of my family as my real family. Seeing them for 10+ hours a day keeps us all connected. I will miss him.

Random. I’m so tired my thoughts aren’t even connected. More later.

If you are one of those people who have been living away from home on your own for a while, and if you can be categorized as being one of those who have a great relationship with your folks and like being home, you will completely understand what I’m talking about. Let me lay out your story; you wake up grumbling about work, you skip breakfast, finish up your morning chores at breakneck speed while still half asleep, rush to work and are fully functional only by the afternoon, wait for the evening when you are back home, come home and finish up chores and bathe, maybe head out to meet someone but otherwise stay home and watch tv and nibble on some junk food or other completely unhealthy but great on the palate food, watch something on your laptop or read a book till it is almost dawn and then fall asleep grumbling about the next day. Weekends are what you live for; you love the fact that you can wake up late, that you are in no hurry for anything or anyone, you catch a movie, you head out for an evening of fun; the whole weekend reeks of relaxation and happiness and the sheer joy that accompanies laziness! Sounds familiar? Welcome to the world of single women, living alone away from home. You like this life. It’s not your long term plan, but for now it’s great because you hope that the ’settling’ will eventually come and till then this is just what you need; independence, freedom…all that you dreamed of (though truthfully, you did think it would have been more glamorous; damn sex and the city and their great clothes and shoes   )

Then you head home for a break; a few days at the most. Life is blissful. No cooking, no cleaning, no washing, no buying groceries, no worrying about bills, no travelling in autos; in fact nothing is the key word. The days are an epitome of LAZY amazing days. You have been missed, so you are pampered, you catch up on family gossip, you eat all the great food that tastes that way ONLY if your mom cooks them, even your beds are made in the morning and glasses of juice and tea appear magically when you reach out for them!!!

Now comes the tug of war created in hell. When you are on your own, you miss being pampered, having things done for you. You wish you were with your parents, you are convinced that your life is boring, that you should have never left home…The conflicting thoughts are endless. Then you head home. For me, the biggest problem is how much I miss my cats, hate the fact that I have left them behind, the endless guilt, the worry that no one else can clean my house the way I do, the constant worry of what’s happening there, missing out on all the evenings out and the latest movies, wondering what’s happening at work…A common story eh? So this is the death lock of confusion that prevents bliss. But this is so essential in life because it makes you appreciate the other side even more. Know what you have going for you and makes you realize that you wouldn’t exchange places with anyone else in the world. (Though it would have been easier if everyone lived together and was happy, but that’s another stream of thought!!!) So here’s to home, parents, family, friends, pets, independence and dependence. Love the whole package.

I know I’m the kind of girl who irons wrinkles into clothing, but this can’t possibly have been all my doing.

I was getting ready for the aforementioned interview today. After a good hour of trying to find something to go with my deep purple Oxford shirt (and after realizing I was going to be late if I didn’t just pick something), I set to ironing. Everything was going normally (intermittent swearing and name-calling of inanimate objects, but generally, more wrinkles coming out than going in), when the back of the brand-new shirt shredded. I didn’t leave the iron on it for too long, I wasn’t stretching it, the shirt just fell apart.

Why is it always when you are getting ready for something important that everything seems to go wrong?

Needless to say, I was not in a good mindset for an interview by the time I got into the car, hastily dressed, empty-stomached (no time to eat), and peeved. Luckily, the half-hour drive and some good ol’ Joni Mitchell calmed me down and the interview went alright.

Suddenly feeling an odd surge of sympathy for Janet Jackson.

Thought I’d try a basic tonight and make some chocolate chip cookies. I’ve been craving them all week, and I figured the ‘I made something’ glow would be an added benefit for my interview tomorrow.

Oh yeah, I have a job interview! It’s for a part-time job that would run through June. It sounds like a good job, and it would be stable employment for a good seven months, so I’m really hoping it goes well.

But back to the cookies. They came out pretty well – chocolatey and melty, crispy on the edges and soft in the middle. Biting into one, I felt like I was eight-years-old again. That’s one of the things I love about chocolate chip cookies – so simple, yet so…sublime.

I used this recipe for (believe it or not) low fat cookies, and they tasted just like chocolate chip cookies are supposed to taste. The recipe made a small batch of cookies – just one sheet-full, but it was very easy. One tip I have is to grease the cookie sheet before you put dough on it. Since there is less margarine in this recipe, the cookies tend to stick a little more. It was like scraping ice off a windshield. Oof.

I always get pictorial proof of my baking successes, so here they are:

I only have a few minutes to write this post.

I have to get my geriatric self to bed by midnight, because DAMN it, I’m getting up by eight tomorrow (I’ve been trying for a couple of weeks with only marginal success). Apparently, my body has developed an ego and can only get up before noon if it’s had a full eight hours.

Spent the majority of tonight in a Rocky-esque push to apply for jobs. Kind of disheartening (one place wanted 7-10 years of experience to be a secretary. Seriously?! Give the newbie college grads a break), but I managed to send out a few.

Crap. It’s 12:08. Gotta go.

God is teaching me to put my foot down.   How do I know?  He’s letting me get run RAGGED.  I’m ten pounds lighter than I was in August.  I look like I haven’t slept in months and haven’t done my hair in ages.  Reason why?

All I have time for right now is a quickie.

A quickie lunch between shifts.

A quickie shower before I throw myself in bed at night.

A quickie email check, and no time for checking out matches on eHarmony, which is too slow in processing and loading, too disorganized, and costs too much.

A quickie scrabbling of notes to my friends between dental, dermatological, and lunch appointments on my day off, notes which make it into the mailbox late  (but get to Hanover College on time because HC’s mailroom still loves me, and loves my girls, too).

A quickie chat with a long-distance girl friend on the phone (10 minutes, 15 seconds–a record by girl standards). (“You okay, hon?” “How’s life?” “Um, hum/Oh, no. That’s good/bad.”  ”Hope things get better for you/me both.” “Love you.”  ”Take care. Bye.”)

A quickie Halloween night spent with the girls after I run home from work, grab my things, and show up two hours late to the party before I run home, shower, and try to get ready for more work.

A quickie emotional breakdown following a triple-accident in the kitchen, customer’s dining table, and the dishwasher, shut off by a nice  quick-dissolving dose of a sublingual anxiolytic that makes it so that the anxiety attack only lasts one minute and thirty seconds before I can get right back to work. Mascara smudged?  Yep.  Still shaking? Sure was.  Appetizers late? Yes.  Serving the meal on time, at least? Hell, yes.  I can do waitressing, I’m just understaffed!

A quickie dream sequence. Yep, the whole thing was done and over with in a minute or less, and I woke up feeling like that’s about how long I’d slept.  Oh, and I dreamt about being exhausted and not having time to sleep. That was nice, too.

I also had time for a quickie at Careerbuilder.com–because working six-and-seven-days a week is not working for me, for my private life, or for my physical or emotional health.

I’m off to catch up on my first day off in three weeks.

Love you all!

-Ruth

P.S.  I’m not complaining. I’m trying to do something about it, really. And I know I’m not alone. Every single one of my college-educated, recent-grad friends are in sucky jobs right now and have very little time for themselves. I just happen to be one of the most overworked of the overworked, with the exception of one person from that age group whom I don’t personally know, but who will make for a nice graphic in this post, and is also in the middle of his own quarter-life crisis:

Aside from the nice visuals and the great quotes he provides, I also decided to tag  Rob here because, let’s face it, that’s how you wind up getting new viewers stumbling onto your blog page from their relentless Google searches.

Deux jours de mission en tant que graphiste free-lance dans l’immeuble ci-dessus!
///////////
I was hired as a free lance graphic designer for two days, and worked in this black building.

Remain on Solid Ground

My new computer should be arriving in a week.

You may or may not hear from me very much next month – what with the whole novel-writing business afoot. Or you’ll hear of nothing but finicky characters and a non-existent plot.

Life kind of happens, you know? I can’t fill you in on all the details (believe me, you’d be bored). But just posting the highlights doesn’t quite do things justice either.

Seeing as it is the current season, I suppose it’s appropriate that I can’t get fall out of my head. The sun shone for a moment as I was waiting for the bus this afternoon, and I revelled at the magnificent leaves. It’s been rainy (and I expect it to be for a great many months to come – thanks Seattle), and the light was a welcome change – albeit brief. I’ve been wondering at the beauty in fall – perhaps it is to compensate for the sadness of transience. It is, I imagine, the poet in me that searches for a glimmer of the beautiful and/or noteworthy in everything, even tragedy.

Thusly I will hold onto hope for my rather prosaic life of the moment. Work, come home and do stuff to pass the time until I work again? Umm, great… It should be work, have adventures and be awesome, work again to fund the adventures, etc etc.

I miss direction, most in all this desperation.

subject: The Two Towers (film), Samwise
quote: “The Blues”, Switchfoot

Him:  Did you have a good time tonight?

Me:  Yes.    You?

Him:  Of course.

Me:  One of these days, you’ll have plowed through all my single girls, & then I probably will never see you again.

Him:  Never.  You had better not move away.*

Him:  I’d miss you too much.

Me:  Are you drunk?  Or simply worrying I’ll deprive you of single lady connections?? 

Him:  Just would suck if you moved away.

Him:  You are still number one in my book.  Happy b day again.

*Yeah, so…  I can’t remember if I mentioned this before or not, but the odds are good that I might be moving away from San Francisco next summer for a currently unknown destination.  It’s sort of complicated.  And the biggest reason I’ve been kind of MIA here so often lately.

–– Weeks 1 – 13 ––

“Money talks, bullshit walks”

When i arrived at Darlinghurst road in Kings Cross, Natasha was not to be seen. I hadn’t seen her working for two weeks, maybe it was due to the rain i thought. As much as i wanted it to rain for the effect it would have on the photos, i couldn’t help it think the rain was also washing away my talent. Natasha works for herself so it was completely understandable for her not wanting to work in the rain and freezing cold Sydney has been experiencing.

I approached Natasha’s spot where there was a working girl i’ve never seen before waiting for business. I was to ask the new girl if Natasha that night was working, when all of a sudden Natasha appeared from what seemed nowhere, man she walks fast. She was clearly a woman on a mission and i couldn’t keep up as she walked off in front of me down Darlinghurst road in the opposite direction of her hotel. I waited patiently hoping for her return.

I’ve never felt comfortable in the Cross as there is always tension in the air. Kings Cross at night is a meal never served cold. The recipe is a mixture of Sydney’s vast range of cultures which are divided by religion and race and for the most part those cultures are segregated and entrenched in their own suburban communities, and late night social locations like Kings Cross are the catalyst for those communities to interact. With the aid of alcohol and drugs there is tension simmering on the surface. Not only local indifference’s are stirred but so to are the tourist from far abroad; be it backpackers, couples, or even large groups of Kiwi men in their matching rugby shirts with their nick name imprinted on the back out celebrating after watching their beloved rugby team beating NSW or Australia… again. Added to the mix are groups of young men always on the prowl, which is ever so evident when young women walk by in their tiny black dresses, (no matter how cold it is). To add to the meal, the atmosphere is seasoned with the aroma of alcohol ridden clothing, vomit in the gutter, cigarette smoke, male testosteron and the allurement of the finest of female perfumé. The sonorous Kings Cross projects ‘doof-doof’ music thumping out of the lowered sports cars usually occupied by four to five men with their hoodies on mixing it with R&B noticeably coming from female driven cars – calling cards or mating calls of the sexes is seems, as countless times a car full of young men will eye off another car passing by filled with the opposite sex. I can’t also forget the regular police and ambulance sirens, the loud drunken rants, street buskers and of course the seagulls!

Across the road from McDonalds and Natasha’s spot is the regular Bikie’s standing around swaping stories as onlookers stare at them and wonder… are they members of any of the notorious bikie gangs filling the Sydney newspapers – The Nomads, The Comanchero’s or the new boys on the block – Notorious who have strong links with Kings Cross underworld figure John Ibrahim. I’m informed most of the clubs on the main strip are are owned by Greek and Russian underworld figures, where the Ibrahim family fit i don’t know – and i don’t want to find out. Hearing about the Ibrahim family on the news just added more mystery and intrigue but also the need for strong discipline to photograph with caution in a volatile area. Just for the record the regular bikes seen across the road from McDonalds are not members of any of the ‘gangs’ and are simply know as “the old bikies”.

Behind and beside the Bikies are always a group of working girls who work for the clubs on the main strip accompanied by the bouncers who are constantly walking back and forth across the street to persuade groups of men into the strip clubs and handing out business cards. For the time being myself and my ‘muscle, The Ginga Ninja, aka SJ’ – my driver, keep ourselves entertained by observing the antics of passers-by, such as a well groomed couple having sex on a bench by the well know fountain near the police station of all places. It comes across very obvious when a well dressed blond woman wearing a white trench coat is sitting on a mans lap rocking back and forth by a main road that you are in Kings Cross. Another pass time for us is giving the regular characters we see every night names. It’s ‘Bowling Ball’ who stands outside the club named Stripper who scares us most. Throughout his life he has become so round in all his features he is the perfect crowd diffuser. On week 8 i started to walk the street for the first time to soak up the atmosphere and i finally got to hear ‘Bowling Ball’s’ charming and warm voice as he said “Want to come inside Sir” a complete contrast to his presence. While walking pass the working girls and ‘Bowling Ball’ a simple look in their direction (sometimes a look isn’t necessary) i am always to hear “Want a girl tonight”, “Hey honey”, “Lady-boy?” and the regular call “Want some fun tonight?” from all the women. Seeing their faces up front is much more honest than the inconspicuous position from within my car. Natasha has told me all the girls on the main strip are junkies, and that is evident on some when up close. Most may be young women but their faces are hard, worn and show journeys that have been traveled the hard way.

Natasha came back within five minutes – give or take. Tonight she was very short in conversation tonight which of course made it hard to get interesting stories. She informs me her newly found relationship with a man is becoming too much and not something she needs while working on the street. I also found out it wasn’t due to the rain why i hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, it was mostly due to a client paying four thousand dollars for one night, so hence the comfort in not needing to work. In saying that Natasha has told me she is earning five to seven thousand dollars a week. I first approached Natasha on week 10 of my project, i had spent 2 weeks walking the main strip to build up my confidence in approaching a working woman. How do i do it? Asking for sex would be easy as it’s what they expect. I was asking for a personal and intrusive interaction. All i knew was i had to be honest. When i approached Natasha we made eye contact and i responded with a gentle smile.

“For full-service It’s one fifty for half and hour, three hundred for the hour. I have a private room that’s really close up there ” as she points up the street from where i came. “You can have oral, cum in mouth, anal, kissing…”
i proceeded to cut her off by saying “Well i actually have an offer for you. I’m a photography student taking photos of Kings Cross and i would really like to take photos from your world”

She asked what did i mean – It was clear Natasha was on something this night, as standing still and eye contact was not possible. I explained to her that i wanted to take photos of the room she takes her clients to and the path she takes to that room, and to make her comfortable i said “Let’s go to the room first and i won’t take photos until you’re comfortable”
“It’ll still cost you 150 bucks?”
“yeah of course, no problems” i replied. I had spent the previous two weeks building up my courage, thinking what in the world to say without causing offence or getting myself into trouble and it turned out to be much easier than i had expected.

The walk to the room is a very short distance from her waiting spot on the street. We pass McDonalds and enter a small but yet very crowded entrance due to the strip club next door to the small hotel we enter. It has a simple flashing red neon light above the entrance reading OPEN 24HRS KX BUDGET. We continue up a flight of stairs covered in dirty beige carpet to an old man sitting at the front desk watching late night Australian drama on a crappy small television high up on the wall. The three times i’ve seen Natasha no eye contact has ever been made on me by this man, even when paying twenty dollars for the room. After paying we head up another flight of stairs which are guarded with a red metal hand-rail taking us to room number 4. This hotel and number of others are referred to as a safe house and they have opened a selected number of rooms each for the working girls due to a number of ‘car jobs’ ending with fatal consequences. I asked Natasha if she had ever done a car job. “I’ve done two, but i never did again after the last… a guy was forcing me down with both his hands like this…” Natasha makes it clear of the force that was used on her by demonstrating with her hands in between her legs like someone trying to open a very tight jar. She continued “…while i was giving him head and i hate that, i don’t like being pushed down and i told him to stop and when i wanted to leave he… like yeah, raped me”.

The room was incredible from a photographers point-of-view. It was simple, filthy with stained bed sheets and a dysfunctional light extruding from the ceiling fan and a small waste basket beside the bed with tissues and used condoms (at least the neon sign out front was accurate in description when it said ‘BUDGET’). The dysfunctional light worked in my favour as i was able to use the bathroom light coming from an angle. Natasha looked a little lost in the beginning asking me what should she do, i said take a seat wherever she wants and i’ll take photos while we chat. She insisted we had “full-service” she was to ask me this again the next time we met and it was always at the beginning of each session and a sure sign of what she is more comfortable in doing. In saying that, she loved our first chat. She really enjoyed having the camera focused on her. To my big surprise she proceeded to undress on her own free will. I took some nice photos under the strict condition i don’t show her face due to her parents being unaware of her job. Her story is sad and i couldn’t help but see a young twenty one year old vulnerable and at times naive woman who has been preyed on by a person who made her shoot up for eight days straight and from then she became a heroin addict. “He made me do heroin for 8 days straight and on the ninth day i asked to go to hospital and he said i can’t, i have to stay here and the only way of getter better is by keep shooting up…” she claimed. Natasha enjoys her work “i get paid to be pleasured” she laughs, but it’s the heroin addiction she stills fights today. At first she told me she has been clean for eight to nine months but as i found out tonight she smokes heroin “maybe once a week”. With the plan of working for “another 2 to max 3 years” on the street it is then she would like to pursue her first career option when she left Perth at nineteen to be become a makeup artist in Sydney. Natasha tells me there has only been one boyfriend in her life, he was her first date, kiss and who she lost her virginity to. Never to have experienced “even a one-night stand”. As straight as they came she said with very supportive parents. She has never been forced into working as a prostitute either from a person or heroin. She started as a lingerie waitress in a now closed strip club due to a police bust, and after hearing how much the girls where earning in the Club for full-service Natasha wanted some of that cash. At first she only did double’s with one of the other girls to build up her confidence and in due time she was prepared to work solo.

For most of the time Natasha sat on a bench/table top near the bed while kicking her heels back and forwards and playing with her hair while i positioned myself on the floor in different positions around the room taking photos while we chatted away. I asked her about her clients and if in actual fact was i her easiest client “yeah… well i have one guy who sees me every Tuesday night without fail and he pays me two grand to sleep bedside him in bed while he hugs me” “I get the one’s wanting shitting and pissing but there’s no way i’m doing that… i had one guy pay me five hundred dollars every time he whipped me – i mean it was hard! i was bleeding man, ” she laughs “…I got whipped like four or five times”.

From the beginning the purpose of this project was to capture the feel/life of the main strip of Kings Cross from the eye of the street cruising voyeur. From that perspective i was confident i could capture people in their moment – nothing contrived. Similar (in theory) to that of renowned French photographer Luc Delahaye who captured everyday people on the Paris Metro with a hidden camera in the mid nineteen nineties. From sitting in the back of my car while SJ drives i saw a working girl take her client into a club that has an entrance lined with mirrors and I thought what a great shot if i can get a working girl walking into such an entrance. That’s when i knew i wanted to tell more. I wanted the story to have more depth as what we see from the street is the tip of the iceberg. It was then a decision to make which working girl do i approach first? – Natasha it was, as she didn’t work with the large group of girls outside the strip clubs therefore making it less intimidating for me to approach. Natasha really enjoys telling her life to me, but is it her life?, it is her world i am sure. My money will always make her and the other girls i wish to approach talk. It’s up to me to see how far the bullshit can walk.

I completely and totally understand why ostrichs bury their heads in the sand…I realize its not a very effective method of handling stress…but it makes complete and total sense right now.

I ran outside two times last week.  Wednesday, because it was my birthday, and because I was late to work and didn’t have time for the gym.

And I ran outside Friday evening, did a loop of the Panhandle with a detour finish at the grocery store.  I was tired and hungry by the end of the workday, and the weather was too beautiful to run inside…  and after having had a taste of outdoor running on Wednesday, frankly, I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the treadmill.

I made an effort to run on the grass to spare my sad little metatarsals, but my ankle firmly did not approve of that idea:  the grass/dirt is pretty much a bumpy disaster zone, and my ankle has been kind of puffy ever since. *

BUT.  Running outside?  Incredible.  I felt all the joy I usually get from running, the joy that’s been missing from all these stupid treadmill runs.  However, I know that I need to be smart, so I packed myself back off to the gym this morning for a 20 minute treadmill run that actually did not feel too bad.  There is an end in sight.  And I needed that, going into last weekend, because it was the weekend that I was supposed to run Nike, the weekend that I had to pick up my race packet and then promptly hand it over to someone else.  That, I will not lie to you, was HARD.  I had a little trouble letting go of the bag with the bib and the timing chip.  But I did it, and having been able to run outside the day before, it made it just a little easier.

Congratulations to all the Nike finishers. 

Upcoming races (next 6 to 8ish months) for which I am intending to have bounced back:

1.  The SkirtSports SkirtChaser 5k, 11/15/09

2.  Run Wild for a Child, 11/29/09

3.  Kaiser Permanente half-marathon, 2/7/10 (or the 5k, if I’m not yet at mileage for a half)

4. Vermont City Marathon, 5/30/10

I CANNOT WAIT.

*The five-inch heels into which I have packed myself today do not really help on this front, either.  I don’t think I have ever been this tall.  At a towering 6′1″, I can see over all the stall dividers in all the ladies’ restrooms at work.  Also, I feel like the air is thinner five inches above my head.  I’m not sure how I feel about being this tall, but these shoes, a pair of Dries van Noten clog/spike heels that were an insane markdown at Nordstrom Rack, oh, they are so beautiful.  And astonishingly comfortable despite my grumpy ankle and the astronomical height of the heel.

Through the grace of God and, since I am on the fence about who that actually is, a friend, I have been employed for about ten days to help re-write a piece on the communities recovering from the massively destructive tsunami in Asia (about 5 years ago).

I am thrilled to be working again because it engages my brain in something beyond my own navel (despite acknowledging the wisdom of the Chinese saying, “The center of the universe is in your belly button.”) and a project that is so worthy of expression, so meaningful and important. These people inspire me to tell their stories.

As my uncle just said on the phone, “there is nothing more demoralizing than wanting to work and not being able to find a job.” And it is amazing how much a simple change in one’s circumstance can take you from the brink to actually wanting to get up in the morning.

Mida te vist ei tea, on see, et ma ostsin endale vahepeal Tradose tarkvara – ilmselgelt tõlkijaolemise eeldus nr 1, vähemalt tänapäeval.

Good news is et ma hakkan basic asjadele pihta saama. Tõlkemälu loomine jms. Halenaljakas on see, et ma oskan veidi orienteeruda alles 2007 versioonis, sest 2009 on liiga võimas mu vana läpaka jaoks ja jooksutab kõik asjad kinni, kui ma seda avada üritan. Nii et ma ootan detsembrit, mil peaks saabuma mu uus arvuti ja hakkan siis ilmselt 2009 samamoodi otsast avastama.

Tehnoloogia ei ole mu sõber.

Trados, however ülehinnatud, on siiski päris armsalt asjalik esmapilgul.

Heh. Kooliasjade kõrvale peaks vist ammu juba töökategooria ka tekitama. Voilà.