Jocose

Two days ago, I ran a mile. This morning, I could still barely get out of bed. My calves felt like they were going to explode if I tried to move them.

And yet, I ran another mile today. I think today's mile was slower. I blame the fact that I still hadn't recovered from last time. Anyway, today, I made it in 9:59:24. Less than a second shy of ten minutes.

Theoretically, I'll run a mile every two days until I can manage to run it without wanting to throw up by the time I'm done. At that point, I'll start running five laps instead of four. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be in semi-decent shape by the time school starts.

Then again, knowing me, I'll forget all about it within a week. I never was very good at making goals and sticking with them. The only goal I remember really insisting on carrying through with was finding the end of a tunnel in Nutty Putty Caves. My first time going through it, I went alone because my group was tired, and I very nearly went insane trying to find the end. The tunnel kept going and going, getting smaller and smaller. Every time I thought I saw the end, I would reach it and realize the tunnel kept going, getting still smaller. I couldn't even bring my arms to my sides anymore, and no matter how loud I screamed, my group couldn't hear me because I was so far away, and the rocks swallowed my cries. It was the first time I'd ever felt claustrophobic, and, long story short, I gave up trying to find the end and just threw myself backwards as fast as I could go, trying to get back to my group. After that, I was absolutely bound and determined to go back to that cave and find the end of that tunnel.

Back to my original point, though. I don't know if that really counts as a goal so much as just proving I'm not a coward.

I'm baby-sitting the Pack kids tonight and tomorrow while the parents go to Anchorage. And I guess I'm bringing them with me to the doctor's office tomorrow too, because I have to get a Tuberculosis test to apply for housing in Fairbanks for this fall. Um. I'm nervous. I'm so terrified of needles that when I got my wisdom teeth taken out, they had to actually strap me down to the chair to give me the IV. If I have Kamryn and Noah with me, I can't show them I'm scared of needles, though. Boo. Guess that'll be good for me. I hate things that are good for me.

I've been working on keeping a straight face lately. Spider and I were talking the other day, and she told me dramatically that when she was four years old, her father had her scrubbing the showers, and when she said she couldn't reach the high parts, he told her to get a chair. I looked at her and said, "When I was four years old, my siblings and I were fighting each other to the death over scraps of food." It would have been hilariously funny if I could have managed to say it with a straight face! But this is me. I was falling over myself laughing as I said it. Crap. I'd be so much funnier if I didn't laugh so easily. Ironic, isn't it? (Spider = Emmelie, in case I never mentioned that, by the way.) So recently, I've been practicing saying my witty comments over and over at work, trying to say them with a straight face. My coworkers and I will just repeat funny comments and we'll take turns saying it until one of us can say it without smirking. So far, I always lose. Boo.

Anyway, gotta go take care of the little monsters. Toodles!

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