Falling Down

Yesterday, during a run, I fell down.  It was especially unfortunate that I took a tumble, since before that point, my outing had been one of the most successful I'd ever had.  The fact is - I'm not a very good runner.  It's not for lack of training, or lack of trying.  I'm just slow.  I always have been.  No amount of long-distance treks or track work has seemed to change that fact.  In twenty years.  Maybe it's because I have hips. Or boobs.  Or my right foot is slightly pigeon toed.  Maybe, despite the fact that I've been taught proper pose form versus heel striking, I still haven't mastered the technique that would excel me to greater distances and faster times. But still, I run. Slowly, but surely, from here to there. And some days, are better than others.

This was one of those days.  I started out up a decent sized hill, knowing that the majority of the rest of the journey would be down hill.  That if I could start out strong, I could finish with ease.  And there's nothing better than the first few runs of the Fall weather., am I right? Cool and crisp and clean and full of possibility.  It was just starting to get dark.  People moved about around me like shadows.  Home from work.  Out with their dogs.  Carrying their groceries.

I made it up the hill with little trouble.  And began to pick up speed as I turned the corner onto flatter, slightly sloping downward concrete.  I went faster and faster. My pony tail bobbing in the wind.  "I'm getting better," I thought.  "I can do this," I rejoiced.  I felt free.

I ran down three more blocks and then rounded a second corner onto a steep down hill stretch.  I might even have laughed out loud.  This was a great run.  A really truly great run.  When your legs fly beneath you without effort.  Like they aren't even attached to the rest of your body. But then it happened. I tripped on the elevated sidewalk and went flying in the air, somersaulting into the grass, and landing with a crash against the tire of a parked car. Thump.

A guy who must have been running behind me stopped to see if I was alright. "Are you okay?" he asked alarmed and concerned.  "Just go," I snapped, almost with contempt.  "I'm fine. I'm fine. Keep going."  And then instantly, in addition to feeling hurt and embarassed, I also felt like a shit head.  I'd been unnecessarily mean and short with a stranger who simply stopped to assist me.  To show some common human decency to a fellow person that may be in need. "I'm such an asshole," I thought to myself as I shook my head in disgust.

But - was I okay? Yes.  Skinned shin.  Skinned and barely bleeding forearm.  But I was fine.  It could have been much much worse.  Landing on my face or neck.  Or rolling my ankle or landing on my arm.  But no, I was fine. For some reason, I started to whimper anyway, then stopped myself.  "No crying, you're fine." I got back up on my feet and continued to run.  This time slowly, carefully, tentatively.  I was fine.  But really - I wasn't.

When I got back home, I walked into the apartment and straight into the bedroom.  "I'm just going to lie down for awhile by myself for a bit," I called to my boyfriend.  "Of course, honey," he said understanding.  (He's always understanding like that. It's almost annoying - since I never seem to understand anything.) I lay down on the bed on top of the covers, stuffing my face into the deep comforter and began to sob.  I cried and cried and cried.  And tried to comprehend why.  I mean - I just fell down. But I was fine. Truly. Why did I feel so awful? Because I suck at running? Because I've always been slow? Because I've always been clumsy and stubbing my toe or tripping on a run is pretty much par for the course? Because it's just scary to lose control?

My boyfriend called to me from another room: "Babes - do you know where the cell phone charger is?" "Didn't I say I needed to lie down alone for a bit?" "Yeah, but where's the charger?" (Sometimes its really hard to live with someone.  Time alone, is never time alone.  Especially when you really need it.) Something made me want to call my mother.  What is it about feeling vulnerable or sad or hurt and needing your mother?  I texted her.  "I just fell down on a run.  I'm fine but it sucks you know? How are you?" Was it not the greatest thing as a child to fall down and get a scratch or owie or booboo and have your mother kiss it all better? That is such a hallmark image of parenthood.  Comforting the shaken child.  Wouldn't it be great as an adult to be allowed to fall down and have someone always there to make things right again? And a peck on the knee actually made it all better?

Now, I'm not saying I couldn't have called my boyfriend into the room and told him what happened and he wouldn't have been there for me.  Told me he was sorry it happened. Offered to get me some water or tried to cheer me up.  But I just wanted to sulk you know? Feel sorry for myself. Be a baby. I did pick my self up off the ground.  I did finish my run and get myself home. I did wash the dirt off. Isn't that how the saying goes: "I get knocked down, but I get up again." Or how bout "brush your shoulders off?" But sometimes its hard to be an adult.  Get up every day. And go to work.  And feed yourself.  And pay your bills. And take care of others. And go to the dentist.  And the doctor.  And grocery shop. And find parking.  And be a good person. And fall down.  And mess up.  And fail.  And then have to pick yourself up again. And again.  And again.

I want to end this on a more positive note.  Something uplifting, but not cliche.  A silver lining in the cloud.  But nothing springs to mind.  I think I just want to honor the fact that we all try really hard.  And we don't always succeed.  And yet we keep on forging ahead. And its okay to fall down.  And feel really shitty about it.  Because it sucks.  Falling down sucks.

Now...brush your shoulder off...

-T

It Happens

I stand in the hallway. The kitchen light illuminating the darkness of the quiet, empty apartment. In a blue negligee. Its too big for me. Not too big for my breasts but what else is new. It displays them perfectly, but the rest hangs off me. Over my waist as if it didnt exist, or my hips, I never imagined them obselete. And are there legs beneath? You couldn't know. We were in the pouring rain earlier. We went for chocolate milk. Low-fat of course after our 5:30 Crossfit workout. Then we got groceries. Sweet potatoes. Asparagus. Salmon. Blackberries. Eggs. The streets were flooded. I tried to cross the street, but my sneakers were soaked. The wind was strong enough to blow my umbrella inside out. We watched an episode of Good Wife while we ate. He closed his eyes half way through. Sometimes he gets tired early on a Friday night and goes to bed. Sometimes he's a very old soul in a young man's body. Tall and lean and muscled. It used to bother me. It is still in our apartment. Except for a car alarm several blocks away. And the party going on two floors up. But in our home, it is peaceful. I think: my happiness has come. He's in the next room, sleeping. Breathing heavy. Already taking up my side with his never ending length and legs and limbs. The man whose hair spikes when out of the shower. Whose glasses are bent. Who tells me he loves me more than three fuckin tons. Every date was worth it. Every awkward first date. Bowling date. Drink date. Blind date. Fourth date. Dinner date. Group date. Regretful hookups. We just found each other. One day. Like any other. And the onset wasn't always simple. Or easy. Or sure. But now, loving him is so much- almost too much to bear. Being loved by him is like a gift I don't deserve. But I am grateful for it. I don't doubt we'll have our challenges. But here, alone, in the silent darkness, I know, my happiness has finally, finally, come.

The Express Lane To Romance

If you are a committed commuter like me, you just might ride the metro and/or the bus into work 5 times a day in and 5 times a day out. And then you might also have occasion to read the free edition of the Express paper during your ride. Today, I did, and it got me thinking - about HOW TO FIND ROMANCE!

Today's edition, was an especially full and interesting one, (If you have the chance go grab it at http://www.expressnightout.com/), and ran an article entitled "Occupiers Find Romance in Protest." It reports that: "a combustible combination of youthful energy, enthusiasm for shared ideals and tight living quarters has given rise to something else: romance. More than a dozen couples have merged after three months of outdoor living, including one pair who got engaged over the holidays."

It got me thinking....About-someone who commented on my last post, where I shamelessly gushed about happiness with my livin' in sin partner in crime boyfriend. This reader wrote: "You have what we all long for...cherish it." And it made me deeply sad to read those words. I remember longing for someone. Sometimes more than other times. And I know some people who want it so badly they can taste it. I wish everyone out there could find someone. And find someone now. And find that someone for ever.

And it seems like all my single friends are trying. Really trying. Online dating. And off-line dating. Meeting people at the gym. And people at bars. Hooking up and hanging out. Getting hearts bruised and broken and having to start all over again. They want it so bad - they get downtrodden and defeated. They feel lonely. They feel hopeless. A birthday party out in AdMo has lost its luster. One group of girlfriends singles out a member because every where they go she's always "looking" for a guy and not just being in the moment. Not just being around people that make her feel good about herself and just having fun for a change.

I've given a friend this advice time and time again and I think its obvious. And you've probably heard it before. And I know it sometimes hurts coming from someone who has already got a guy. "Easy for you to say," she says to me. But its absolutely true. And the occupier romances show us its true.

1. ENERGY

2. ENTHUSIASM

3. SHARED IDEALS

4. TIGHT LIVING QUARTERS

1. Live your life. Go out there and do the things you like doing. That you are passionate about. That you enjoy. That you find fun, educational, stimulating, worthwhile.

2. Be positive. Learn to like yourself and even love yourself. If you can't, it will be hard for someone else to. Besides, no one likes a debby downer. People want to be around people who are happy. People are more apt to like someone who is happy. So get happy. Single, and alone and mateless. Imagine, if you have to live the rest of your life alone - are you going to throw your life in the trash? and live through it sad and sulky and depressed? or are you going to find a way to make it full and interesting and be content?

3. YOU WILL FIND SOMEONE. I PROMISE. PROBABLY SOMEONE WITH SIMILAR QUALITIES OR SIMILAR INTERESTS OR SIMILAR FRIENDSHIP OR WORK CIRCLES OR EVEN "SHARED IDEALS." I found my boyfriend playing kickball. The occupiers are finding companionship through passionate political protest. Maybe you like salsa dancing or volunteering at a pet shelter or retirement community. Whatever it is - if you are 1) being energetic and active in your life and 2) being enthusiastic and happy with yourself and others - then you WILL run into the members of the opposite sex that are potential matches for who you REALLY are.

4. MEN ARE EVERYWHERE. I know it doesn't seem like it much of the time since the male to female ratio is abysmal in DC but I promise - they are there. At the kickball games. And occupying Mcpherson's square. They're at a Cafe Citron happy hour, where, for example, a man name "Craig" met his now wife "Allison" back in 2008. (Again, see today's Express under the engagement/marriage announcement section).

I know this is starting to sound like a lame ass pep talk. But I've been giving a lot of rah rahs lately to a lot of single friends. Male and female alike. I don't know how long it is going to take. I don't. I wasn't single between the ages of 14-23. Then I was single for 4 LONG YEARS between the ages of 24-27. And I haven't been single at ages 27 or 28. It's a mystery maybe. But I remember being busy and happy and finding myself between 14-23 and I never had trouble meeting men. After a terrible break-up during law school at age 23 I never seemed to recover. The doom and gloom overshadowed my love life and I believe - drastically hurt my chance to find someone new again soon. When I finally decided to be happy alone at 27 and made conscious and active steps to be satisfied to be single - I found one man immediately thereafter and then another only days after the first relationship fell apart. I was going to parties. And being with friends. And being myself. I was in the places I live and enjoy doing the things I find fun, with the people I find to be decent and kind human beings. Is that a recipe for romantic success? Perhaps.

Good luck out there. Maybe there is no Express Lane or Express Way to Romance. All I know is, there seem to be a lot of lucky ladies (and gentlemen) listed in the Express today who found someone special. You are next. I feel it.

Cheers,

T

A Buddy Day

January 2nd. The day after New Year's Day. A national, federal holiday for most - meaning a day off of work. But not for those in the private sector. Not for most lawyers I would guess. Certainly, not a day off for me. A lowest, of the low, bottom of the totem pole, nobody-special, young, struggling esquire trying to make my way (or more importantly just make rent), residing in my beloved DC.

We cuddled in bed. Our gorgeous, fluffy, cloud-like comforter, dark blue blanket, soft white sheet encapsulating dreamy marshmallow likeness of a

bed. His arms wrapped around mine. His breath warm on the back of my neck.

"Okay, just five more minutes," I said insistent this time. "I have to go to work."

"Don't go in," he said. "We can have a buddy day." "A buddy day? What's a buddy day," I asked. "Well..." he said, (coming up with a response on the fly), it's a day where best buddies do buddy things." "Is that so? And what do buddies do exactly?" I curiously questioned. "Buddies do things like make sandwiches. And watch TV. And make each other happy." Aha. Genius. A buddy day. Why didn't I think of that?

"I can't. I just can't. You know that. I have to go in. But I wish I could." (And I really wished I could.)

I got up and reluctantly got dressed, brushed my teeth and packed my purse. I searched for my work keys, first in panic that they weren't where they usually hid but was relieved to find them hiding behind a large green candle on the dining room table, that was only brought out for the holiday party we'd held the week before.

I went back into the bedroom and kissed him several times, though he was still half-asleep. "Have a good day," he told me. "Get some rest," I said. I closed the front door to our apartment as softly as I could, even though he wasn't entirely asleep, so as not to disturb him. Then I stepped out into a perfectly quiet, city morning. The air was very chilly. But fresh. The sun beamed down from the sky, full and bright.

Call me crazy, but I like working on holidays. Making the brisk walk to the metro without any traffic to dodge. A few people out walking or jogging, but only a handful of the crowds that are usually emerging from their houses in the early am hours. You can hear the breeze. You can hear the silence. It doesn't happen around here often. It's hard to describe. It feels peaceful. And full. A big space filled with quiet happiness.

The train was equally empty. As were the streets when I emerged out of the subway once again. Only a few of my coworkers had beat me in. It was nice to see them. To exchange new year pleasantries. To know that most of the building was empty. That I could plod along with my work - Relaxed. Easy. Without distraction. Without the tension of the masses emitting from floors above and below. I like working on days like this.

And my mind keeps drifting to the man back at home. To the new year. To what I have and don't have. I don't love my job. I don't have job security. I don't have a lot of money. And yet, I live with and love my best friend. My best buddy. And we make sandwiches together, and watch TV together, and take walks together and make each other happy. And that is everything.

I don't know what 2012 will bring. But I'm excited. And I'm content.

Cheers,

T

Moving In Together: Part 3

MT got a text from his buddy who had agreed to help us move in on Saturday. "So you just about picked the worst day ever to move. I'm on my way."

And he was right. Saturday was not the ideal day to move as it was the first snow "storm" of the late fall and early winter months. From pouring rain to what I'd call pouring sleet, with a little bit of actual wet snow mixed in, it was wet, it was chilly and it should have been entirely unpleasant.

But it wasn't. Moving is hard. Some pieces are harder to move then others. Awkward to carry. Heavy. Can't get out of the apartment, down the hall, into the elevator, fit into the Uhaul and then into the new apartment front door and through the hall and to its new rightful spot within the layout. But despite the normal setbacks and difficulties, this move went as smooth as it could possibly go.

Just me, my MT and two of our guy buddies, the four of us packed up MT's place, and then my place and then moved us all in jam packed into our new place. Phew.

MT still has way too much stuff. VHS tapes of The Houseguest and Dumb and Dumber when neither of us has a VCR. Electrical cords to long gone devices. Shirts he's never worn. Books he'll never read. Things he'll never use. And there will come a time that he will need to purge.

But that day wasn't Saturday. Or Sunday. Or today.

We are just happy happy happy. We sit on his coach (now our couch!) in our apartment. Looking at the granite counter tops on the kitchen across the rooms. Staring at the people coming and going on our charming tree lined city street. We look at each other and think how lucky lucky lucky we are to be young, in love and in this adorable home, right in the thick of Adams Morgan.

We'll figure out how to organize the closets - soon. But for now, we just can't believe we live together. And can't believe how right it all feels.

Cheers,

T

Moving In Together: Part 2

The Math Teacher and I are moving in together....tomorrow.

The Uhaul has been rented. All smaller items moved. The bedroom is sort of half painted a blue that he picked out. There is a lot to do.

Hunting for an apartment was exhausting. Finding the right one was exhilarating. Moving will likely be trying. And living together???

Well, I'm starting to think living together will be insanity.

I'm not going to lie. I am nervous. Really, REAAAAALLY nervous. Like cold feet nervous. Is this how brides feel before the jaunt down the altar? Now I see why some are the runaway kind.

I'm excited to live with him. I think we are going to have fun. And fight. And be happy. But...

Living apart makes it easy to keep parts of ourselves and our lives and our routines apart too. His mess annoys me, but before it was his mess in his place. Now it'll be his mess in our place. In my place. But still his place. He has so many pieces of big, bulky, ugly, do not match, old furniture and I hate them all. I feel as though are apartment doesn't have room for all his stuff. But then I know I need to make room in our apartment for him - and his stuff. ahhhhh. What if we fight all the time about cleaning and chores and forgotten locked doors or money and I become a nag and he becomes resentful? Or he doesn't understand it when I just want alone time? Or we can't decide what to watch on tv? Or I do all the cooking and he does all the eating?

I was thinking of this as a no brainer. We spend all our time together. We want to be together. It's convenient, its fun, its exciting, its an adventure.

But the reality has sent in. And I am nervous. And I am scared. And I am definitely having second thoughts. Eep.

Moving In Together - Part 1: Boys are Dirty

As if moving in together didn't have enough challenges, I'd like to grope about two things:

1) Boys are Dirty - this morning I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. MT had already left for work. And there they were -- teeny tiny 1/8 centimeter hair clippings from when he'd trimmed his beard or shaved his neck or both. All. Over. My. Toothbrush!!!!!! Ahhhhhh!!!!! And what is a girl to do? MT is a regular guy. A guys guy. He's not the grossest. He's a little more grown up than that. He does try to clean. But his cleaning just isn't up to par with my cleaning. And he doesn't notice stuff like hair particles on toothbrushes. But still...its a problem. How am I going to deal with this when we are living together on a daily basis? When my toothbrush is constantly in jeopardy? I don't want to come off like a big nag or his mother. But I'm clean, he's not. This isn't something that's going to go away. It's something he needs to get better at and I need to get more easy going about-- but how to approach the discussion? how to change or adapt your ways? how to compromise? Should he have to pay for the replacement toothbrushes? Ick, ick, ick....

2) We haven't even found an apartment yet!!! And we've given notice to our current apartments as of October 1st to be out October 31st. Yikes! We had little choice given the fact that evil apartment complexes often won't let you move out early or pro-rate your rent when you do. And since after MT and I decided to move in together, we saw about 10,000 apartments posted on craigslist in 5 days and went to almost as many open houses in a week. It was, to be blunt, exhausting!!! But we were just oh so certain we'd find something in the next 5 weeks that we might as well tell our landlords so long suckers!

We put in an application to live in the basement apartment of one townhouse owned by a nice professional 30-something lobbyist who lived upstairs with a roommate. I think the two of us qualified in the sense of criminal, credit and income background checks but I think she just clicked better with another potential tenant.

Now we've put in another application since last Friday with a property management company of a very small building on a gorgeous town-house and tree lined street in the Dupont area that is slow, slow, slow. They just don't seem to have their shit together. And we want to move in! I'm so excited about painting the walls and hanging art and figuring out how to fit all our stuff in the tiny closets. We want it!! Let us in already!!

And what if they deny us too? Then...Back to the exhausting, drive all over town, write a million emails to craigslist address that don't ever get returned- drawing board. Hmph.

Wish me cleanliness and apartment approval. Until then...

Cheers,

T