Dreams, Ponderings, and Mindless Wanderings

When there's too much to say, post about a dream.

It's too much to ask. I was gone for six weeks. I've been back for nearly two. There's too much to say; I have nothing to say. I can't find my photos. I don't know where to start. I don't want to start. I'm tired. I'm up. I'm cutting back. I'm starting over.

In the U.S., there was a bubble bath or soak called Calgon. In the ads, a woman would say, "Calgon, take me away." That's all I remember.

Calgon was also an "ancient Chinese secret."

One issue I can focus on is that j'ai perdu mon meaujeau. Yes, that's right. Das Motscho. My mojo, eet eess a losted. I'm still without the general mojo, but this morning I did get up to run. How did I get up so early and perky? I had a dream about the Canberra marathon.

Stupid. I never plan on running that one. That's my marathon to cheer. I can stay in one place and see the runners four times. I'm starting to plan this year's costumes already.

I have no business dreaming that I'm running it. I certainly have no business dreaming that I'm out in front. I am. I'm in front when I come across a street that's flooded with ice chunks in the water. If you've ever seen a lake in the process of freezing over, you'll know what this looks like. I'm not about to run through that. It'll be freezing and wet; I'll get frost bite and blisters in one day. I see no way to stay dry except to run along someone's fancy schmancy fountain. I'm crawling along the rocks to stay dry when the rest of the field catches up and runs through the water. One woman, a "running trainer" (a dream creation, go figure), scolds me and tells me that I just wasted time climbing when I should have just run through the water. I won't win now. Sure. I love dreams. It's not that I bolted ahead of the elite and will die in a few more metres. No, it's the climbing over the fountaing to avoid the icy water. That's what'll keep me off the podium.

This "running trainer", who started out anonymous to me and very much the bitchy woman, eventually became Ewen. Now Ewen is running with me. We get to the point in the marathon when we're running down several flights of stairs in a gym slash warehouse (What? You expected logic?), and I decided to jump the last few flights. Ewen said that was cheating. I told him I'd run back and forth on level ground the distance of the other flights to make up for it. Now that we were in the gym, we had to wait until our names were called. When the organisers called our names, we'd get our name on a sticker so the people at the end would know for whom they cheered (vs the bells tolled), and we'd get our number on an envelope with our race information.

While I was waiting, I was putting on the shoes Ewen gave me. These shoes didn't fit and tied funny. My feet looked like bad balloon animals, but eventually I got the shoes tight enough. When I did, I heard my name called. I got my packet and then looked at Ewen. He was carrying my shoes. Turns out, I was wearing his monster shoes, but not even good runners. These are the shoes he'll be wearing when he's 80+ and mowing lawns in dark socks. Mall walking shoes. I have no time to change. I've spent 20 minutes getting them on, and the pins given to me to fasten the race packet are all tangled. It's time to just finish. So I ran the rest of the way (~2 km) barefooted.

At the end, Tesso commented on my ankles. They were bruised from running barefooted. I ended up with a 4:20. Reality Katy with the broken hip should have been pleased, but dream Katy wasn't. She knew she lost time with the fountain and the shoes. It could have been a PB.

So that was the reason why I was able to get up and go. I had something to prove. Or it could have been that other dream that involved being naked under a pile of laundry looking for the movie i had been watching outside in the snow and trying not to be embarrassed that I was nude in front of John Larroquette, the janitor from "Scrubs", and Patrick Duffey or that I told them "I apologise for being nude, but this is how I am most of the time."

Nuh-night, Puss Puss. Dream on.

Dream: What does this mean?

I don't remember much of the dream, just this one scene: four elderly women are sitting and discussing Sarah Palin and the debates, when one says, "She crosses her legs at the ankle like this to show that she's being existential."

I don't care what your political slant it, nobody running is into existentialism. Nobuddy.
Are too many things colliding at night? I have been reading a few books set in the past when women did cross their legs at the ankle. I have been reading about the U.S. election (might be nutty, but no one can say that it's boring). But where does the existential bit come in? Can anyone be existential?

Nuh-night, Puss Puss, if that is who you are.

A dream, a tear, and some ramblings

And so it begins...
I got out of the car to see that everyone had already started. As I passed the starting line, I notice that the GC people were already taking it down to reassemble for the full marathon start. Hm. I like that idea. If you know this event, you'll know that the only difference is the start direction. In the dream, they're taking it down to reassemble it turned around.

So I'm running. Yikes. I see the 1/2 mark and the split mat, but wait -- where is my chip? Rats, I forgot to put that on. No problem, I'll just look for my number in the photos. I can go without a time. Whoops, I forgot my number (409, but in real life that's my Canberra 10 K number). I return to the expo (dream logic ignores the distance) and try to get a chip without my number. Before I get to the person to help me, I remember that I have not run more than 11-13 km so far and it's silly to be running a half right now.

I blew off the half marathon and bought stuff in the expo instead.

~~~

One week to go for the 10 K in Cranberry. I'll get to see all my Cranberrians. They live there because they run the country. I don't even have to demand Ethiopian now. We have that (and Eritrean) here in Brisbane.

Mark can't run. His calf is torn. I can see the little grey cloud over his head. I hope he'll find some joy cheering. I'm sure he won't be near me. I think my outfits embarrass him a bit. I know. Shocking.

~~~

Not feeling well. After killing my previous post-Lulu booboo 3 km time trial time, I've had to put all things fun aside for the literature review. I did it. It's done. It's a necessary evil for research, and I hate doing them. I expect nothing positive from it. At least I don't mind the other research. I came home from uni to an empty house (Mark's left me again for his luvva in Perth, Bea Snithtwip) full of things I've ignored for a week.

I didn't sleep because the cats were starving. They had to go to the vet. All night I had this going on:

It's an oldie but a goodie. In my case, multiply it times two, and add the greyhound that felt she couldn't get comfy and needed me to scratch her at 2, 3, and 5 am. Oh, and my injured shoulder. I'm in a world of pain and am tired. Who wants to come over to my house to play?

~~~

Some dog p()rn for you:

WhippyJamshack (stepdaughter) is buried under all the red pillows; ScratchMeHappy (stepson) is keeping Guacamo safe.

~~~

And you neeeeeed my stuff. Hurry hurry, the palm trees are going soon! Don't laugh. In three weeks we've paid for this semester. I have to keep going. Vet bills. The reason for the purge is to get rid of clutter. Paying for the bills is a bonus.

I think you have some birthdays/anniversaries/going-away parties coming up, right? You need ...

this and this

That's my update. Nothing cohesive. Nothing exciting.

Nuh-night, Puss Puss.

Deep down inside, what I've always wanted to ask an Ironman

Last Tuesday, I had a dream about Marc Rubin. This means nothing to those of you who didn't go to school with me. Marc was a new student in 7th grade. I remember him as being sort of a larrikin. I can't say I knew him. He was a boy in my class. He was a football/gridiron and baseball player; I ran cross-country and track and played soccer. He was part of the in-crowd for boys; I was part of the famous 80s airband The Pink Pies (how did we get the reputation for being gay? I'll never know).

I was lucky to be in a class that didn't play up to clique separations. People had groups and besties, but for the most part I felt I was left to be me. Marc might have been one of the BMoC (big men on campus), but he was never unkind. Thank God for that. If he had been a right royal dick, I'd have had a hard time accepting that I had a dream about him.

I found Marc on Facebook. No way. That's not him. No. Marc?

The Marc I remembered was beefy. Beefy boys don't age well. Beefy boys can't keep up the weights and gym workouts once kids come. This was the Marc I saw. He's been doing these races I've been reading about. I'm 40 now. I still think of Marc as the goofy kid that I went to school with from 7th to 12th grade. To me he is 18. This lets me be so proud of him.

I've been wanting to mention his achievement for a while, but how? I had no real segue. I am not an Ironman. I'm more Ironbutterfly but even then only for 10 minutes.

Until last night. Yesterday I received my alumni magazine. Marc had returned to Dallas for some event and there he was with all his football buddies. He was just staring at me from the photo. I know he was thinking, "Katy, why haven't you told anyone about my story?" Okay! Later. Geesh. That night I had a dream that I was talking to Marc. In front of all his football buddies, I asked him the most important question to ask a triathlete.

"Marc, when do you poo? I mean, this isn't just a triathlon. You do all this other stuff and end with a marathon. I worry about poos for just that part. When do you poo?"

I don't remember his answer. I do remember that he sat down on our floor and was unimpressed with the dog and cat hair. I tried to explain that we don't have air conditioning and our house is open. Lucky for me, he didn't see the frogs that come in. He was still unimpressed with my housekeeping skills. I did redeem myself in his mind when I told him that we didn't watch the television. I think he just noticed that we didn't have one. I didn't want to correct him. I was too happy to be getting advice from the great man.

I can't believe that in the land of dreams, where I can do and ask anything, I ask Marc about his poo strategy. At least I can say that he and his friends were fully dressed. I swear, next time, I'm going to ask if I can squeeze his tushy. I want a post that says, "I squeezed Marc Rubin's tushy and lived to tell about it." I'm not worried that Marc would hit me. He is not and was never that kind of guy. I am just worried that I'd turn to dust if I touched an ironman's booty.

All kidding aside (I wasn't kidding), I am very proud of Marc. I hope anyone out there who is or has struggled with weight can see that they don't have to lose that battle. Don't let anyone discourage the Athenas or Clydesdales. Those people who leave snarky comments in forums (fora?) are just worried you'll kick their ass.

Good on you, Marc!

(and when do you poo?)

Weird running dreams

And if you thought there'd be no consequences of entering my photo for this contest... THINK AGAIN! Bolder also enjoys our photos so much. I'd hate to deprive him.

I thought that because I cannot run a marathon, I'd chill on the dreams. Nope. I've dreamed about Strewth, CJ and Ewen, but that was too long ago to remember. I wrote it to Strewth, so I know it happened. And as I have met all three, they were able to be represented by themselves and not some weird dream creation.

Most recently I had a dream in which we (Lervemunkee and I) landed in Seattle and had to stay at the home where people stay between flights. It also seems that Tammy is the one who uses the home most. It was the home from that movie... oh rats. Dressed to Kill? Was that the one with a killing in the fancy LA home with a drill and the floor? It was a fancy home. That's key. And Tammy wasn't there, but there was a computer. We were trying to find her number from her blog (dream logic!) but history wouldn't remember Blogger or Blogspot. I had a quick glimpse of her blog when we were looking, but it was the "behind the scenes" part of it and I felt that wasn't right. I closed it down and kept trying to find the normal blog. Subconscious Katy does not know how to use a phonebook. And real Katy has never met Tammy, so subconscious Katy had a great time with her blog in the dream. It was very dark and glam. Tammy had big fluffy hair. Not '80s hair, but "Cindy Crawford in her prime" hair. And it was a blog about fashion. YESSSS! This will peeve Coach Tickles.

I also had a dream in which I had decided to run the entire Warwick Pentath. It wasn't a long dream. I was told that I couldn't go from 15 minutes to 2 days of running equaling a marathon in just 3 weeks. Buncha nay-sayers!

Last dream was about the Gold Coast Marathon. I was in back to watch the start and I noticed that they were starting by pacing buses. The 2:30 went first, then the 2:45, and so on.  Pat Carrolls was supposed to pace the 3:00 group but decided to use trained dogs instead. He had two. They went off with a few people but then one dog stopped to pee and had to run and catch up with the others. Then the second dog knew he'd have to go back and pee on the first dog's pee. I knew then that this was the dumbest idea from Pat. Pat was also wearing a straw hat from Bunnings (If you're American, think Lowe's or Ho' Depot.) with an extra liner to protect him from the Aussie sun.

Running update: Saturday I ran 15 minutes! I can now run 15-20 as my "long runs" on Saturdays and try to get those 10 and 12 minute runs in during the week. I need to be disciplined and keep it at that for a few weeks. I will have to say that I started my run with the Dickie's version of the Banana Splits theme. Always a classic.

Rode my bike 28 km with Cap'n Lerve. Out. Drink a cuppa. Back.

I'd have felt better on my bike if I hadn't suffered from the selfharm I did last night. Let's just say there was wax. Hesitation and a weak grip on the strips may have been involved, too.

(Pressing my thumbs for Marcus.)

Bad ass day

My rump hurts. I'm having a bad ass day.

I'll see Dr Femur Dude on Wednesday. I'm hoping he'll tell me all is well and that my one tock is just achy because of the barometric pressure or that the planets (all but Pluto*) are aligned so as to cause me grief. It'll be my 39th birthday. He owes me good news. I hope so. Until then, I have a pool session while Mark attends Runnin' Skule. I cannot wait. I love the pool. At least I'm bobbing about in the cool water. It's work and play all rolled into one! Like a Reece's.

And my quitting walking has helped. I posted that last one in the morning and that same night had to walk all over Brisbane city to find the right restaurant for our needs. Over the weekend I fussed about the house. Decided that all that was in room a had to be removed and put into room b. Both rooms a and b had to have the once-over-for-charity treatment. Today I washed 2 dogs, scrubbed the tub and put a few coats of varnish on some table legs.

And my butt hurts. I don't know why.

See why I quit the extra walking. Being me is kicking my booty!

* About Pluto. They call it a "dwarf planet." Well, my grammar peeps, that is a planet. They need to call it a big fat rock if it's not a planet. You can't modify a noun and then say it's not that noun. Grrrr! My husband is a psychotic runner. I can't then say that he isn't a runner. So... Either it's a planet modified with "dwarf" or it's a big hunk of space rock. Make up your mind.

~~~~~

I forgot about a dream I had. I got to run with Runnin' Skule and we were doing some out-and-backs on the greenest, coolest grass ever. The path wound a bit and went by this big hunk of Nu-Lax. Nu-Lax is just a block of dried fruit paste and it'll get the poo out of you in no time. I got my stash when I was released from the hospital and my pain killers were slowing down the bowel boys. Anyway, every time I ran by this big hunk of Nu-Lax, I took handfuls and just swallowed it down. It was my way of bragging.

"Yeah, you're all faster, but look! I can down laxatives while I run!" The best part of the dream was the amount of respect the other runners had for me. So close to reality.

Later, a few weeks after the Nu-Lax dream, I had a very typical Katy moment. I was cleaning up and decided that this big container of Metamucil had to go into the recycling bin. It was taking up too much space. It wasn't empty, so I dumped it into water and drank it up. No, I wasn't blocked. I just needed the space. There was still a bit more left in the container. No problem. I just had a second glassful. I didn't think too much about it until a few hours later when I couldn't understand why I couldn't finish off a kiddie scoop of ice cream. Oooooh....

I will not tell you about the next day except that I created my own dwarf planet!

Quickie dream post

Just a quickie. I'm up every day at 4 am so I can be ready to get up at 2:30 for the race. Less of a shocker. Mark is still in bed.

First of all, there is a big gingerbread village in the lobby. I, of course, thought of CJ and the Gingerbreadman. Oh oh oh... and on the way to the village, I saw a black and white greyhound like ours. Smaller than Tamale, but still a good sign of things to come.

Last night I had a dream that I was booking it at the end, but had a hard time running as I had a drink bottle in one hand and my purse by the straps in the other. I hate running with things in my hand. I was also about to beat my 4:15 goal (which is NOT a goal for this crowded marathon) and was really in shock.

I woke up all happy, the way I did when I was young and had a dream about getting a bunny or a pony. I was all excited and then fell hard when I realized that I did not physically experience this dream. Rats!

Okay. That's it for right now. Going back upstairs to get ready for the 5 km fun run. Will take it kroozie. Get to see my dad for the first time in over a year afterwards. Whee!

Hawaii is great so far. For those coming from Queensland, it feels very cool. Cold even. Brrr!

Ciao!

Tesso dream

(I forgot to finish her hair and I didn't save the original... so Tesso has a crap haircut in this drawing, but in real life, her hair is fine. It was also fine in my dream. Just not here. Sorry.)

Let's see if I can do this right. My notes are sketchy. I woke up in the middle of the night after having this dream and, after a midnight hydration elimination session, I jotted down some notes in the dark with a nearly inkless pen.

I had a dream that after a Runnin Skule session, Tesso suggested that we run down these stairs, because there was free stuff at the end. The stairs? Twenty flights down what would have been a stairwell if it weren't out in the open and each flight was made of different material (e.g., cobble stone, brick, cement). I wasn't sure it was worth it, but she said there were free drink bottles at the bottom, so sure, I was off to get them. ... because drink bottles are so hard to come by?!?

She flew down the stairs and I was struggling, because the cobble  stone stairs weren't long enough for my feet and I kept getting my heel caught. I had no rhythm and had to run down sort of side stepping. I told her to keep on going, but I was going to stop half way.

It was a good thing I stopped, too. Half way were free mugs and in 3 of those mugs were various glasses my mom wore in the 80s. She had lost them and I found them. Won't she be so pleased?

I have some ideas about this dream. I think this is actually Clairie's fault. She made me (forced and threatened to bite me) do push ups after a workout. The idea being that if I can get used to using my arms to pump when my legs are knackered, I should be able to crank it when I'm running a marathon and my legs are dead and it's only my arms to pump me across. Ooooor if someone is biting me while I'm running, I'm cool. It makes sense, but I've always had skinny geek boy arms (watch me swim) and I had to stop at 10, and Clairie did 20. Hm....

The stairwell was a lot like the ruins of Hovenweep around the 4-corners area of the U.S. My family often vacationed in the U.S. southwest and my mom used to lose glasses, cell phones, lip balm. Hm...

I'm also afraid of running down stairs and get dizzy looking at the stairs. I also run up the stairs on the south side of the Story Bridge sideways. And lately I've noticed that just walking stairs kills me. My hams die and I huff and puff. If I sort of go up jauntily, I'm okay. Walking? Dead. Hm...

And let's end this by getting one thing straight. Very straight. If you want me to do 20 floors worth of stairs, you'll have to offer me more than some crappy drink bottles!

Happy WoahManniversary!

Hello!

I've been struggling with how to properly prepare for my animalversary with the lervemunkee. I wrote to Susan (pictured above with Kenza), who gave me some great ideas of what to do and how to dress. She even shipped me items from her wardrobe.

First off, she suggested that we have a picnic, because it's spring time now in Queensland. Don't waste good weather on a movie. Why not be pretty in pink? "Striped to look pretty, drugged to look vapid":

I really like this dress. I can master that look, as it is my public transportation-don't-chat-me-up-I'm-not-tuned-in look. I also like her pose. No muscle used for this look.

Susan then suggested a bit of pool side shock 'n' awe for when the sun is too hot. I was thinking perhaps a bit of role-play? I'll be the cashed up bored 70s housewife and he can be my ripped pool boy. I'll just flash him some hip hugging crocheted panty to remind him of who's boss. Susan thought this was a great idea.

I'm thinking a night on the town in this outfit (I came up with the idea of a broom on my own! Susan suggested a Sweepa, but that's just stupid.):

Men like women in 5mm thick socks!

Finally, I'll dress like an old lady's throw to seduce his tighty whities off! I'm so grateful to Susan for this loaner, because she said it's what she wore when Michael proposed.

... because an acrylic robe like this on a hot subtropical night just brings out the animal in me. It kind of looks like they're suggesting it as a coat, but Susan tells me this is 100% boudoir pour le soir!

Two runs in two weeks...whoo hoo!

Mark so tie tie
First, the dream: I had a dream that I had about 26 cm/1 ft of what looked like thin rubber tubing in my hands and I was about to do the snip to my manboy. I remember the doctor and Mark getting all nervous about me taking too much. I was thinking that this was way too much vas deferens for any man and I'm only taking out 1 cm. I woke before I could do the snip or cauterise. I woke up giggling about the dream. I told Mark about it and he was much less amused.
I'll make this short.
Ha!
Moi?
Verbose, grandiose, ugly toes?

Okay, two weeks ago, I skippied my way into a world record. I live in my own little world, remember, so my personal bests are world records. Oh the perspective we take.

I felt great the Saturday and decided I was ready for a run.

And I ran too far. Or did I? I don't really think it was that. It was the hills at the end of the first quarter of the run. The cramp and muscle pain that hit me at the end of the race kindly reminded me that while I might be feeling proud of myself and a wee bit smug, I had not let my calf rest. My calf doesn't speak English, so it just communicates by turning itself into a walnut with an attitude.

I made it to my destination: the café. As long as the runs were flat, I was okay. Just the slightest hill. Walnut!

Harrumph.

Sunday was not a good day. I lost my white puss suddenly. No warning, no clue. I am an animal person. I've owned cats, dogs, bunnies, an African pygmy hedgehog, tarantulas. When I go to people's houses and they have pets, I gravitate to the critters. Many of us are like this, I know. But just setting the mood here. I lost my little furry friend with no warning and I was consumed with grief. I'm a baby.

I didn't do any running during the week and found I didn't miss it. I knew I'd run again, so why worry about it? I did swim, but there is a difference. I could float and hear nothing (swim), but getting out and pounding the pavement wasn't an option. I have learned that running doesn't make me happy. By that I mean, if I'm down in the way dumps, running won't help. I had to (and still have to) get all the tears out. And I needed to be alone.

Nearly a week later, I leave work early on Friday and collect Sierra's ashes. More tears. Lots of tears.

By Saturday I could run again. I ran the same route and had no pain. I didn't run hard, I sort of felt like I was holding back waiting for the pain to come. Not the best run physically, but as I was laughing during the first part (two episodes of Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me!). After the second episode, I realised I can run in some emotional states, not in others. Angry, happy, wired? Run. Sad? No. At least I know if I'm in the dumps again, I'll just swim instead.

On Sunday I bought a white orchid for my Sierra.

I'm okay now. I'm running, swimming and for the first time in two weeks cycling to work. Things look normal. I'm not less sad. I can't look at my old posts without getting sad and teary. I just understand that this is the way it is from now on.

Death is overrated. I'm not impressed. Mark is under strict orders to stay around.

Tomorrow is Mark's return to running school. I'll do a long run and meet him at the car. Like normal. Life goes on even if a bit different from before. I've even decided to do running school on Thursdays. We'll see. My legs and shins aren't hurting. I want to challenge myself, but not re-injure the gams.

Wish me luck (oh, and ask Mark what I got him for his birthday. I'm so proud)