burn with me in 2013-2014

Oh, PMS, finish your deed and get out of here. You're killing me.

I have one month before I start job-applying. One month. I can do this. One month. I prowled indeed.com and wasn't overly enthusiastic with what I found today, but whatever. One month. Catch me, Jesus, because I'm flinging myself over this cliff, ready or not.

This morning I got to work before the rain started. I was there for about twenty minutes before realizing that I had forgotten to put Sheppy up so that the kindly maint dude could clean out my HVAC intake. So once Josh got in and crazyboss called to say that he would be late, I ran home to do that. In a pouring rain. An hour later, I went to class. In a pouring rain, and thunder. An hour after that, I came back from class, with wet socks and shoes, in a less-pouring rain, to find out that everyone in the office was pussyfooting around and would literally rather eat crackers for lunch than go outside.

I was displeased.

I broke out the emergency can of tasteless ravioli and some crackers, ranted about inflammatory issues in college sports, and promptly went on a great sulky job hunt--oh, and I was also told, in the morning, "Why are you still taking Russian? You won't need it barefoot, in kitchen, and impregnated." Along with the whisper that Aaron looked "very fertile."

What in the everloving fuck.

Although I did have the glory of saying, "This is really awkward and I don't want to say it again: please refrain from commentary on my fiance's junk."

So I spent the afternoon alternately doing work and on silent protest, using my illegal space heater to dry out my jeans, shoes, and socks. I took my shoes off and only put them on to duck out to other offices or the bathroom and they were only barely dry by the time I left.

For those keeping track, I barely have the vehicles under my control anymore. I'm a pretty awful vehicle manager, apparently. I do handle the procurement side, because it (rightfully) terrifies everyone else, but I have these worries that I'm dispensable and I have no job. That there is a countdown is somewhat reassuring. Currently, I am creating a spreadsheet of six pages of chiller error codes. They are all 5-6 digits long and have similar names, so I can only do about 50 at a time before my eyes glaze over and I forget how to read. I tried scanning it into a PDF and converting, but it came out a dumpster fire. By hand it is.

Aaron texted me asking if I wanted to go to a Soundgarden/Nine Inch Nails concert in Charlotte in August. It's a weekday. I was pretty lukewarm. But he wants to go, and after some pointed questions he wants me to go, so I said the hell with it, fine, I'm in. His buddy was buying tickets right then and needed an answer, and why the hell not, Charlotte. I then also found out that this is in replacement of the 30 Seconds to Mars/Linkin Park concert that I was really, really looking forward to. He was supposed to buy tickets. I'm pretty sure he procrastinated. They're now $300 each. Fanfuckingtastic I love consolation prizes.

I just... don't fucking care. But I am really disappointed about missing that concert. I keep trying to get over it and failing.

Then I get online and check out my footballs, because football is joy and escapism, and it's currently torches and pitchforks and fuck you and your mother if you don't agree. Wonderful.

The last two nights I've had vivid, tiring dreams of vehicle crashes and hijinks and literally birthing twins mid-escapade. Getting kind of old, but surprise, my life feels out of control.

When I got home today, it was 60 degrees (a little on the chilly side, with a wet breeze) and the humidity was at a glamorous 93%. The sidewalks were still saturated and the sky densely overcast. I hunted down a bunch of non-cotton, told my legs to deal with it (but stretched them generously), and went on a run. For all that I pushed harder and had shorter walking periods (to catch breath and stretch), my time wasn't any better. But it was still that moment of peace, where it's just me and my body and matching my stride to the pounding music in my ears, where I can shut my brain off and just... go, for all of the 35 minutes that it took me to go 5k. When I got home, I was sweating hard but not drenched (due to sweat-wicking, and also not cold!) and out of breath. I chugged water and then got down on the floor and did two sets of full sit ups with toe-touches, side plank raises, dumb bell cleans, and tricep kickbacks from a plank position. It was a really nice cool down that sorted out the rest of me and now my abs/core/back are nice and heavy.

The luxurious, long hot shower was the second best part. Standing in the water stretching out my calves again, I was full of runner's high thoughts like this is such a wonderful hobby.

I'm still chugging water, but have switched to Mountain Dew because I'm afraid of water intoxication. Three glasses of water right after the other doesn't sit very well. Also, therapy Dew.

I'm stupidly excited to break in the new shoes and then start doing longer walks/runs. The 5k route is a good solid one with hills, but it's getting boring and I can barely pull it off with my beaten up shoes without hotspots and hurting later. I really want to go longer.

I am now fed (yay eggs and veggies) and cozy in pajamas, still PMS-y and slightly unbalanced, fending off more baseless irritation that the boy I'm Skyping is paying 90% attention to his TV and 10% to me. It'll get better after the show is over. Probably. He sounds slightly twitchy, too.

There were a few sunny spots besides the run. There is a chance that Aaron could get here late Wednesday night, because he might not have to work Thursday. My new running shoes came in, and their glorious electric purple makes me unreasonably happy. This weekend, Heather and Aaron will be over to watch the Syfy premier of 'Bermuda Tentacles,' with alcohol and a ton of food, and we will manically plot immature wedding stuffs.

But in the meantime, I'm probably going to bed early. Because fuck it.

(...SHOES. LIQUIDATION MARKDOWN. 50-60% OFF. WEARING TO WORK TOMORROW.)