Бо я тащусь від тебе давно

What? You asked.

The year my mother died, I was taking a drama class. I was friends with all the theatre geeks and I liked the drama club teacher, so why the fuck not?

(Long time readers will recognise the fuck it factor at work…)

The homework assignment was to describe an emotional day you had - the day you got your driver’s license, for example. You know. Emotional shit.

My essay might have started by grabbing you by the short hairs and didn’t let go for two pages.

On Wednesday, March 18th, I walked into the condo to see my father crying at the kitchen table.

My father never cries.

When he finally looked at me, I knew.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead,” I asked.

“Ding dong,” he answered.

Have I said how absolutely fucking thrilled I am to be cleaning out 40+ years of memories I’d rather forget? (STILL!)

Do you know, I couldn’t remember what grade I got? I couldn’t just flip to the end and look. No! That would have been the sensible thing to do. The easy thing.

When the fuck have I ever done the easy thing?

I read the entire fucking thing. Cried through all of it. Wondered how it would end.

(Spoiler alert: it ends with my mother six feet under.)

And the grade? As if there were any doubt: A+  The relationship between mother and child can be difficult and you captured that.

Can. Be. Difficult.

Oh, Doc L., you have no idea.

BBQ sauce on my titties would have been a much better story.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

I ran last night.

Willingly got on the treadmill with my puffer in hand.

2 miles - intervals for all of it: 30 seconds (13mm) / 2 minutes (20mm).

Not speedy. Not balloon lady safe.

I did two beginner iFit workouts because I wanted to zone out and let the treadmill tell me what to do.

(The girl who drives a stick and refuses to use cruise control because she drives the car put the treadmill in charge. Yeah.)

I didn’t enjoy it.

But, I didn’t hate it, either.

I have a Turkey Trot coming up on the 24th. In fucking Miami.

I wasn’t really looking forward to the race, but… I’ve always done well at 10Ks. Especially there.

It’s not enough to salvage my Dopey training, but it’s a start.

My new shoes and socks don’t cause blisters, so maybe I can get father in the marathon than mile four.

I have no idea and I don’t really care.

I’ll do what I can and then I’m hanging up the sneakers.