I want to vent. About what? I'm not sure. Everything, possibly. I just know that I'm bored and frustrated, so something must be up. I had the grand plan to get up this morning and run. The phone alarm went off at 4:45. My first thought was, "No bleepin' way am I going running!" I went back to sleep. The floor is painful. The first few nights, the floor wasn't so bad. It helped my back feel straight and not so kinky. Now, the floor hurts. It's hard and it's cold. One more day was all I needed to finish painting but nooooo, I had to go back to work. Now the entire contents of my bedroom are still strewn about my living room. I'm tripping. I'm stubbing my toes. I'm panicking because I keep losing my cat in the mess and think that he's either squashed or asphyxiated from paint fumes. I'm almost certain the damn cat doesn't know his name. He only appears when I rattle the food dish. Then I feel guilty for teasing him with food and end up feeding him some. No wonder he's over weight. It's probably just one sick game to him.
Between another brutal night of volleyball and a weekend of painting and sleeping on the floor, my body feels like it's been a hit by a truck. I haven't been running in like a week a now. A week tomorrow. I hate that thought because it just means it's going to be harder the next time I run. I'm thinking about throwing my whole stupid 8 week plan thing out the window. I didn't need it the first time I started running. I ran when I felt like it for as long as I felt like it. So, I'll just run until I don't want to run any more and see what happens. My level of unrest lately may put me somewhere in Canada by the time I stop.
And I'm SO frickin' on the fence about getting a dog. I filled out the adoption application online today.... and then deleted it. I keep going back and looking at the available dogs. I could make it work. I realize I'm busy but it's like other things that come along in life, you adjust and continue on. I could adjust! Then I hear my mom in my head, "You have a dog." No, I really don't, but she'll just keeping grinding away at me and make me feel guilty for wanting something. Grrrr.
I watched this movie called History Boys the other night - frickin' waste of my time. Stupid British cinema. It was uninspiring and rather crude. And having to watch people smoke like chimneys for two hours made me sick to my stomach. I was more than happy to send that one back to Netflix with a zero rating. I have no clue what movie will show up in my mailbox next - simply because I'm too lazy to log into Netflix and check - but I'm positive it will be a million times better than the rubbish that was History Boys.
Ok, I shall drown my grumpiness with a West Wing mini-marathon.
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