Why Am I Still Having Trouble Sleeping?

Preface: I hate that when I wear shorts, my right leg causes the right side of my shorts to bunch up. And I hate that I am still having trouble sleeping. It is 2:42 in the morning, and I can't dream like everyone else is doing right now.

Perhaps there was truth to something my psychology teacher told me in high school. She said never to read in bed; it causes difficulty with falling asleep when wanting to sleep. And it also prevents focus when trying to read studiously. True or untrue, that's not all. My room looks like the A bomb was dropped a month ago, and I, being the only native, must sift through all the debris to recover my most treasured items. For instance, I still can't find my only strapless bra, the receipt for my broken digital camera, and my address book. All of these things are very crucial, and I will more than likely never see them again. Or I might locate them if I could tidy up my room and thin out all the junk. That's the thing; I can't get rid of any of it. As soon as I move out of the house, I'll need all of it just to survive in a place of my own. But for now, I must make a narrow, zigzagging footpath to my bed.

On top of that mess, I may be moving to Colorado in less than a month. Living there and working in the art field again would be a dream. However, I doubt myself constantly. Can I be everything they want: organized, professional, on time, thoroughly knowledgeable of almost all crafts known to man, and great with all people all the time? I've done this kind of work many times before, but not on this level. And frankly, I'm a bit terrified. But everyone knows that growth wasn't promised to be painless. There must, inevitably, be some stretching involved. I just keep wondering where God's got me heading. Where does all this training, experience, and desire lead?

On another note, I have been reading a scary book entitled "The Marriage Map". I lost sleep after reading through to just the third chapter. Now, I know what you're thinking.... why in the world are you reading that, Skye? Contrary to what it appears to all you scoffers, I honestly want to go back to school to study marital counseling. And now, I'm just doing my own research while I have plenty of time to read. Granted the book is horrid, but it does have some valid points. And I think with each book and each couple I ask questions I get a little more insight (however skewed it may be). Of course, going through with marriage myself would be the best way to understand it. But... I think I am becoming a lot more reflective... and with a tab of hesitation on the side. People just seem to let emotions get the best of the situation, rendering themselves blindsided. And then there's the ever looming "wake-up call" a few years down the road: your partner is not the person you thought he was.

It's a wonder people stay together forever. That would be ideal, and I admire those who "work at" their unions with the determination of marathoners in training, but I still fear the worst, all the same. My current view puts me approaching marriage in the way a cautious athlete might get into an ice bath: she gets in inch by painful inch until she's total immersed. And by that point, why get out? She's finally comfortable; the initial stinging that accompanied the process has faded into a state of acceptance. And I don't mean that in a derogatory sense, like numbness. Everyone knows ice helps keep down the inflammation. How that relates, I don't know.... I'm going to take aim at my mattress, finally.

Thievery

Yesterday, Mom took me to see her chiropractor about getting some really cool orthotics for my jacked feet. As we were pulling into the parking lot, I noticed that there were a couple of heaps of tree parts. The storm that took out my precious computer must have also torn a couple of really huge branches out of the ancient oak.

With the felled branches on our minds, we went in for my mom's appointment and for an evaluation of my feet. The chiropractor told me that my feet were unlike anything she'd seen before. By the way, it's never good news when a professional says something like that, and she calls her assistant in to have a look. No wonder I've got such huge peroneals; my arches have pretty much given up all strength. What a great time to be without any insurance.

So anyways... we were at the receptionist's window ready to leave when I finally asked about the wood piles outside. She told us we could have it if we wanted, and we made plans to come back.

After boxing class got out, I drove back to the chiropractor's place to start putting the wood in the back of the ELIMINATOR (my truck). Mom was supposed to come help with the heavier pieces, but she ended up coming late. So late, in fact, that I had nearly gathered all the firewood there was to be had. Let me just say that I was doing this at 8:30pm; it was dark outside. The only light with which I could see what I was doing was a single light bulb on a post at the end of the parking lot. A very weak light bulb, at that.

Someone must not have liked the fact that I was lifting 1,000 lbs of wood on a dark night, because then the light bulb went out. It was probably a motion-sensor type deal, but it still seemed like someone was watching me sweating away in the night as I threw log after log into the truck bed. When Mom finally arrived, I must have been a sight: girl stealing wood in the dead of night. She turned on her brights and pulled out my ax from the passenger side. That was when all joking was pushed aside.

I started whalin' on some pieces that weren't cut all the way through. Wood chunks were flying everywhere. I must say, I felt pretty cool. I felt like a lumberjackie.

That's when I looked over as a guy was taking his trash out. We made eye contact for a brief second or two, but I think he got the picture. He got back in that office in a hot second as I continued to weld my ax like the Amazons do. I felt like all we really needed were some ski masks to complete the feel of two crazed women taking out their aggression on dead wood during the dark hours.

All in all, we came out of that parking lot with enough firewood to last us a whole month. Now all I have to do is get the chainsaw running to take care of the long pieces and sharpen my ax for some splitting. Man, it feels good to be a mountain woman in training.

One Scoop of Humility, Please

So I'm finally getting into shape. And to celebrate this, I've decided to start running with my shirt off. I thought it was a good way to show confidence. Thought is the operative word here...

YESTERDAY:
I had just finished getting my quads in a tizzy at cycling class. And the yoga class wasn't until 7pm. There was plenty of time to squeeze in my 4 miles for the day, so I took off the shirt and started running towards the turnaround point. The run started well enough, and I didn't get any honks/hollers. This made my day, because I absolutely abhor it when men think that a nice long blaring honk will get them in my running shorts. In my 10 years as a runner, it has never worked.

I ran down through an old neighborhood, and tried to hide from a couple of old men who were talking in a driveway. I didn't want to be a "stumbling block". Hiding proved fruitless due to the fact that there weren't any shrubs or trees. In the end, I just decided to run faster to get by as quick as possible. You might wonder, why run shirtless if you don't want to be noticed? It's too dang hot in Georgia this time of the year. That's why! And I like the freedom that comes from feeling the air as I cut thought it. Also, I'm working hard and in good form... why not act like a competitive runner who takes her shirt off?

Five minutes into the run, I heard the faint sounds of a carousel. It sounded like it was coming from a few streets over. Gradually it grew clearer until it came out from behind a house. It was the ice cream man! His modified, old-school mail jeep had the typical "Cotton-Eyed Joe" playing in an atypical warped pitch. Try to imagine what music sounds like after dropping acid. I can't tell you, because I've never done it. But I guess that's what his music sounded like.

He passed me, but I didn't make eye contact. And I ran a few more minutes. Then I heard that trippy circus music coming again. The ice cream man came from a side street and surprised me. Again, I didn't make eye contact. In my heart, however, I thought, "This guy must be checking me out in his ghetto ice cream jeep."

Mile 2: The ice cream man made yet another pass at me. This time I thought that the guy must be using the ice cream man persona as a guise to pick up chicks. So I turned, in frustration, to face my stalker. IT WAS A WOMAN! Oh man, I felt the shame then. I had thought that a man was stalking me because he found me appealing to the eye. And come to find out, the ice cream man was just a regular woman trying to make an honest living. That instant blew all of my pride into the ditch. I thought that I had gotten my old charm back. And that is not a small thing after being single without any real prospects for almost a year.

Now I laugh, but then I did not. And the shirt went back on.

Great Indoors

I can't believe that I'm going to join a ladies' fitness gym. I'm almost 24 years old and probably 15 years younger than the next youngest client. I know this whole message might sound offensive, but I can't really help feeling a little strange. Another sign that I am quickly slipping into the realm of the "hermit-librarian" woman.

After years of running, nay, racing competitively I'm going to squeeze into lycra yoga pants and spend my time staring into a wall-length mirror while other women do the same. Forgive me, but I've never been a fan of gyms. It always seemed fake to lift weights, run on a treadmill, bike on a stationary cycle, and spend time in a step class. Why not go out for a trail run or ride a horse? Perhaps a nice swim? Anything but a yoga class!!

But I stand to betray my very own soul. Instead of the great outdoors, I'm going to spend time in a building with "Night at the Roxbury" music pumping. Anything to get in shape. Hi, I'm Skye Causey and I'm a sell-out. I so badly want to get back to being in the shape I was in college, that I am going to supplement my running schedule with yoga, "spin class", and weight-lifting. Perhaps I will be ready for the Atlanta Half...

I justify all this by a string of thoughts. For instance, runners aren't the most flexible bunch. We only move in one direction, and it's always one foot in front of the other. So, I figure yoga will help increase my range of motion. Very beneficial to runners, no? And weights are supposed to increase muscle mass...which makes me a more effecient machine. The spin class will add to my cardiovascular training. All that equals something good, I hope.