I’ve been living in an absolute shit show lately and well, it went from bad to worse on May 3rd.
Quick recap: South Dakota sued Wayfair in 2018 and won, which means that ANY company delivering goods to their state has to pay sales tax.
Just like when Roe v Wade fell, the entire country hopped right the fuck on that and started changing their laws to include something called ‘economic nexus’. It used to be that having a physical location in the state (office, warehouse, etc) required the payment of sales tax. Now, remote employees and sales over a certain dollar amount trigger nexus.
We deliver to a lot of states. A LOT. Amazingly enough, most of the laws have been in place since 2018, but it’s finally become a thing now.
I’ve spent a lot of time combing through our sales and finding a consultant to help me detangle this mess… and it’s bad. It’s really bad.
I’d pulled all nighters for two weeks, which combined with the anniversary of my father’s death and my mother’s birthday.
Did I say absolute shit show? Yeah.
Any way, I’m feeling particularly needy on my mom’s birthday and went to the husband for a hug. Something was off, so I asked him if we were OK and then he told me that he hadn’t felt anything for me in two years. TWO YEARS.
So, basically, I’ve been held hostage in Florida for TWO YEARS. If he had said something back then, I would have packed up and started the next chapter.
Well, he dropped that bomb on the 3rd and here it is the 20th. We’ve already divided up the furniture in the house, we’re looking for places to move to, and the house is just about ready to put on the market.
Every one I’ve discussed the details with keeps asking why we’re moving so quickly, why we’re not trying therapy. It’s been 26 years, doesn’t that mean anything? Blah blah blah.
If I’m to be honest, I haven’t liked him very much for a few years now, but it was convenient and easy to stay with him. Amazingly, those are the same reasons he never said anything.
I’m not sure there’s anything worth saving.
And I highly doubt that any amount of couples therapy is going to convince me to stay in Florida.
I feel more betrayed by his inability to tell me TWO YEARS ago - when it would have been easier to pack up and move home - than if he had slept with every. single. fucking. person in the entirety of this cesspool of a state.
So. Yeah. That.
The odd thing is that, despite how long we were together, I’m really very excited to move onto the next chapter of my life.
I’m stuck in FL for a little longer, but I’ve promised myself I’m moving home in two or three years.
I haven’t picked a place yet.
All I know for sure is that I will not be winding up in Connecticut.
I didn’t give him enough credit when The Slim Shady EP dropped, but fuck, he gets it all and more now.
I can’t even begin to tell you how much I enjoy the way he plays with words. The way they fit his mouth, dance over the track, just… everything.
This song right now is on repeat. Ed Sheeran’s chorus is spot on, the word play, and the emotion that comes across in that one “FUCK!” (you’ll know when you hear it)—Absolute perfection. Every single second of it.
(TW: abortion)
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Two weekends ago, I spent three amazing days with my little brother.
I hadn’t realised how much I needed to see him until that first hug in Epcot.
I was the first friend he ever brought home from college and, apparently, I’m the only one that stuck around.
There’s so much I can say about that… but I’m not ready to discuss it. Yet.
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I hired a photographer to do a Dopey medal photo shoot at Uni. It was a birthday present to myself, but I didn’t splurge - I hired a person who took photos as a hobby so that she could build out her portfolio and… I’m not happy with about 99% of them, but this one came out exactly as I imagined it! Well… if the medals were in focus, maybe.
if people are scouring my search history, they should be very concerned
Two weekends, two races, two very different results.
Last weekend was a 10K and I was Dead Fucking Last. So far in the back that they left the timing mat down and one girl stood there with one solitary medal for me.
This weekend, I attempted a half marathon and Did Not Finish. In my defense, I really had to pee.
This race was two loops, so I passed the starting / finish line twice before looping back for the final crossing. This is important.
Well.
There was not a single port-a-pottie on the race course. NOT. A. SINGLE. ONE.
It wasn’t bad enough that I was so far in the back, they had pulled down the timing mat at the halfway point. I was so far back that the cops forced me onto the sidewalk (Which, thanks, Doral. You’ll be getting my bill from the ER for the broken ankle.) I was so far back that near the halfway point, all the water stations within three miles were poofed. I was so far back that the cops were gone after I turned back for the final five miles.
I was so far back that I decided to pee instead of crossing the finish line.
Hear me out.
When I got to the finish line with three miles still to go, the clock read 3 hours and they were starting to tear it down. I finish in 4 right now.
Near the finish line is the one and only public restroom on the entire course.
My choices were absolutely ridiculous:
1) pee my pants, finish in four hours, but not cross the timing mat (DNF)
2) step off the course, take my pee, finish in 4:15, but not cross the timing mat (DNF)
3) walk down the finisher’s chute, pull my bib off, head to the bathroom before crossing the timing mat, pee, and go home. (DNF)
Option 3 was my best one, I’m sad to say.
Did I say I really had to pee?
I went over to the official timer - after I went to the loo, of course - and told them if they were waiting for me, I wasn’t finishing.
Do you know what he said?
He said that they could leave the timing mat down if I wanted to finish, but they had to clear the road. That’s why they were tearing everything down.
Well, fuck me.
Honestly, I don’t regret my decision. I made it based on the knowledge available to me 10 miles in and with a full bladder.
I am writing to the race director, though.
1) I know I’m slow, but tearing down the finish line at the three hour mark of a half marathon AND NOT POSTING THAT THERE IS A TIME LIMIT is just rude. I would have never signed up if I knew I had to run a 3/3:30. That’s not possible right now. (Maybe they don’t actually have a time limit, because I was allowed to continue. I just lost all race support.)
2) You honestly can’t expect people to go 13 miles without a bathroom break. The 5 and 10Ks at Disney always have lines at the port-a-potties and public restrooms and those are less than half of a half marathon.
The funny / sad thing about this is that I never have to pee during a race. NEVER.
Well, never say never.
But on the flip side, my PHRC shirt made me a new friend. She was an Eagle, but she didn’t make the transition to the FRC. I can’t say I blame her, but it was nice to put the name to the face. We run a lot of the same races, so it will be nice to know someone at the races, even though she smoked me right off the start line.
Aaaaaand, speaking of the FRC, I’M GOING TO DETROIT!
(Who the fuck is ever excited about going to Detroit?)
I’m meeting up with my pocket friends and we’re going to run the Freep Marathon Weekend.
I posted a picture of my renewed passport with the caption: I’M GOING TO DETROIT! and um, yeah. There was one comment on the status questioning my sanity, but I actually received several DMs asking me if I was OK.
Oh, I am so far from OK… but that’s not related to this.
Also related to FRC - I just did a Battle. Finished with 89 miles over 10 days. I capped three times. We won the race (wooo!!!!), but the best part of all of it was my team. I haven’t been on a team that gave me the warm and fuzzies in a long time.
Oh, did I mention? The course for Battle took us from Erie, PA through Canada, Detroit, Northern Ohio (Toledo, Sandusky, etc.), and back to Erie. Toledo was… fun. Nothing like reliving some of the worst years of my life.
I have stories about stuff and things and I’m not in the right headspace to talk about them right now.
Seems to be the story of my life.
I can part with this, though:
March 18th was the 32nd anniversary of my mother’s death.
She died when I was 16.
She has been dead for double the amount of time she was in my life.
Next up is a 5K in Boca tomorrow, then the Live Like Bella 5K at the same place the Miami Turkey Trot is held, and then the A1A Half Marathon in Fort Lauderdale, and THEN, it’s (virtual) Princess Weekend.
God, I really hate running.
Seriously.
Why the fuck do I do this to myself?
Apparently, I’m a masochist.
Here’s how absolutely fucking ridiculous I am:
I signed up for the first FRC Rumble of the new year. A Rumble is different from Battle of the Fandoms - Rumble is a month-long event where there are small teams and every member has their own cap. Battle is a 10 day free-for-all with a 15m/day cap. I’ve also signed up up for Fans Run the World, which is year-round, 366 mile loop, with a 15 mile cap.
I’ve got the 10K cap right now. I’m almost done with my first week and I have done a 10K every single day so far.
I ended January with 100 racery miles. 111.2 in real miles. (I couldn’t count the extra 11.2 of the marathon because it wasn’t done IRL.)
I’m aiming to continue at least a 10K every day in February because it’s hard, and we aren’t afraid to do the hard things. At least, that’s according to my DFF Fam.
I’m already burned out. The only thing that is pretty much keeping me going right now is I want to hit 200 miles in February. It is highly possible. If I stick to the miles as scheduled, I’ll hit 193. I can find an extra 7 miles in there. 2 extra miles a week…
I mean, fuck, if I’m doing 6 miles a day, what’s another 2 during the week? I already did that once to hit the 100 mile mark for January.
