It's been a crappy day here in Boston, substantial rain and with generally nothing special about it, other than its Friday, and my 24th birthday.
I'm waiting for the boy to meet me for dinner before we go to see the Boston Pops perform tonight. I'm just relaxing, or at least trying to, in the Barnes and Noble here. I found a book on running, which should so thoroughly engage my mind given my love of reading and my current training, alas, it's not. Instead I find myself drawn to those browsing the aisles, picking out books. And it made me wonder about my own love of reading.
I hate to admit it, but I've been in a bit of a reading slump these past few weeks. Given the current state of my family, there isn't a single person who could blame me. But it still stinks. I have no escape, no outlet for my emotions. I feel as though I'm a prisoner in my body, trapped here, feeling like crap, chained to my roofless doghouse outside in the torrential rain. I want to cry right along with Mother Nature.
But my point was not to go down that shitty-ass depressing road again. I just find myself afraid to find a new book, partially for financial reasons, partially because my measly bookshelf is overflowing as it is, but mostly because I'm afraid to start. And that speaks to so many aspects of my life, I'm terrified to take the first step. I haven't applied to a single job in DC, I haven't even begun to start packing away my unruly bedroom, nor have I begun to unpack the intense emotions that are being held at bay by a single sheet of paper, ready at the slightest change in wind to split beyond recognition and let forth a tsunami of feelings I don't know what to do with just yet. I'm finding myself standing still, not wanting time to pass. As if my stoic stance will keep the sand from falling, the time from ticking away hours. I'm afraid to miss a single moment of my aunts shortened time here. I'm paralyzed by the same fears that have paralyzed her for her whole life, nearly 58 years. And that's even scarier. She was about 30 when her mother died of this very same disease, so while I'm a few years shy of that, I am not less terrified that I will follow their same fate. This has taught me how precious and fragile life is, and I'm so afraid to waste this gift that I'm paralyzed by the fear of living it wrong. Which is ABSURD!!
So I'm going to try (really, really, really) hard to enjoy my 24th birthday, because it's the only one I'm ever going to have. And I'm going to try to accept that I have permission to enjoy my birthday, no matter the circumstances. And that is the part that makes me feel so guilty. But, I have to continue to live my best life, live my one and only life to the best of my ability.
Happy my birthday!!
P.S. My training guide calls for 10 miles tomorrow and in the crappy weather no less... Oy!! Wish me luck!
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