| One day... |
[21 Apr 2005|03:30pm] |
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mood |
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 stressed |
] |
One day I’m going to learn to chill out.
One day I’m going to figure out how to let things go.
One day I’m going to realize that it’s not a sin to actually feel something.
One day I’m going to understand that control isn’t the most important thing in the world
One day I’m going to realize that I expect entirely too much out of myself.
One day I’m not going to get frustrated with myself when I fall short of perfection.
One day I’m not going to follow every complement with a self-deprecating statement.
One day I’m going to realize that it’s okay not to know the answer to everything.
One day I’m going to be completely comfortable with saying “I don’t know”.
Maybe. While heavily sedated.
Way too much is going on right now. My head is jumbled, and I've been way too pissy lately. I don't like being that way. It's irrational and doesn't help anything, yet I do it anyway. I attempt to extract myself from human contact, but that just seems to make things even worse.
Sit down, shut up, and just get through it. Easier said than done.
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| Midnight runs and trips down memory lane... |
[30 Jul 2003|12:10am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 relieved |
] |
I love running to the point of exhaustion. Start slow, setting a steady pace. Mind blank, arms pumping slightly, legs thrusting ahead. Breathing steadily, rounding the corners, barely even noticing the scenery or other people. Ambient sounds fade until the only thing you can hear are your own rhythmic pants for air. Blank. Stillness. Before long, you can feel every muscle working, burning just slightly. I love that feeling. I can’t describe why it makes me feel so incredibly awake and alive. It just does. Stretch out the run, still keeping that steady pace.
Round the corner, loop, half-way home.
Increase the speed, running as fast as you can down the street. Feet hitting the pavement in time to your own gasping for breath. Lungs and muscles burning. Sweat dripping. Running until you can run no more.
I run for a few reasons. The most important one being that it brings me clarity of mind that I can’t get any other way. I run to cope with my problems. To me, running is therapeutic. Everyone is different.
I am so incredibly sore right now. I managed to get a 45 minute run in tonight. I hurt. I deny being a fitness nut, because I’m anything but. I eat whatever I damn well please. Red meat, fried foods, sweets. The same goes for drinking. I’m a southerner; our blood is 50% grease. I can’t deny that I have the natural vanity that comes with youth. I do. It sounds incredibly arrogant, but I know that I look decent. I have that clean-cut appeal that most parents adore while still having a bad boy reputation that girls love. They always want to be the one to change you. Stupid girls for thinking they can fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed. Stupid me for not wanting to be fixed. However, I’m not stupid enough to think that I did anything to deserve this. It’s genetic Russian roulette with genetics.
( Be forewarned, it’s a long one. )
It’s an odd thing how the memory works.
And now, four pages later, I’ve run out of words.
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