A memory long forgotten.

Keep in mind, I grew up in one of those retarded bible-thumping evangelical christian households. "Holiness" is the doctrine. One of my early memories which I'd forgotten until a dream last night:

I'm a child. 6 years old I THINK. We still lived in the grey single-wide mobile home, but I think it was on the lot next to the house on Cinder Hill Ct. while Dad fixed the house up. I remember playing make-believe, but considering how HOLY our household and my upbringing had been to this point EVERYTHING was related to religion. In fact, I have a vague recollection of overhearing an argument between my parents involving the nature of play between my sisters and I and whether it was suitable for church.

So, I'm at play, and I think in Sunday school we'd recently covered the David and Goliath story. In my playtime David had just had his ass handed to him by Goliath, who was holding Jesus hostage. Rather than playing with rocks and string, I did what any rational six-year-old does. I drew my sword and cut off Goliath's head without any of that bullshit sling and stone foreplay. I then led Jesus to safety over a series of stones or tiles (my kitchen floor maybe?) surrounded by hot lava.

Mom and dad were NOT happy that my fantasies at this age were so well developed with me as the warrior rescuing humanity's supposed savior.

I wish I knew why.

I don't think it was just the distance but I can't be sure.

I'll never ask though.

I don't think you care.

Worst run ever.

Just my normal train run. I started at a pace I couldn't keep up, got winded fast, twisted both ankles, tweaked my left knee, and walked probably half of it. I also got a headache.

I had a dream last night.

All I can remember is this:

I was on foot, running. I was moving fast. There was a dark sedan or SUV to my right on the road, keeping pace with me and the driver looked at me angrily, as if upset that he was unable to pass me. I laughed. Up ahead of me I saw a huge yellow Hummer limousine across the road, taking up all lanes of traffic. I get the impression it was pulling out from a side street. Of course things often don't make sense in dreams, so somehow the driver of the car next to me seemed to be happy about this, as if he'd be able to continue on and I'd be forced to stop. The next thing I know I dove headfirst over the top of the hummer, felt my chest and my face very lightly brush the top, and I tucked, rolled, and came up running without missing a stride. I remember having a big stupid grin on my face, and that's all I remember before waking up.

Maybe my dreams are telling me to take up parkour.

I...

Feel like shit.

This post is not running related. It's kind of heavy, in point of fact.

First, an overview of my day. I stayed up until well after dawn, finally going to bed sometime after seven. I set the alarm on my phone for 10 am, 10:05, and 10:10. I dismissed all alarms as they went off and laid in bed, half awake, half asleep, listening to my roommates banter. I lay there like this until 2 pm when I finally made the determination that I had too much to accomplish to continue to lie in bed. I chatted with one of my roommates (chad) for a bit and we ended up doing some gaming. I wasted more time on an internet forum when he had to go to work. I got to chat with my lovely lady, but being in one of my typical miserable moods, it mostly consisted of my moping and her attempts at consolation, in spite of the fact that things haven't been ideal for her either. I DID get my tax returns for the past two years signed and stuffed into envelopes, but by the time I took it upon myself to go looking for stamps, it was late in the day. Like 8 pm late. I went to Walmart, picked up a couple of things (none of which were stamps). You can't get stamps at the local gas station any more apparently either. So at walmart, I decided what the hell. I'll get some chicken tenders. The guy working the deli disagrees. "I just closed. It's 9 pm." Well, that kind of pissed me off, because it was LITERALLY 9 pm and this asshole wouldn't take a minute and a half to stuff some of the chicken tenders he was putting up for the night into a goddamn box and give them to me. I kept my cool. Instead I grabbed a rotisserie chicken. He hadn't put them away yet. As I picked it up, the snap on plastic cover opened enough to pour grease all over the floor, my leg, and my nicest pair of non-work boots. I got another chicken, because I didn't want one that was open. I went home, started eating, and ended up gaming some more with the roommate upon his return.

This is an all-too typical day for me. The smallest things set me off, but I manage to control myself. There is no outburst, and thus no outlet. I feel the rage build over the simplest shitty little events, and I FEEL it project inward. I am very aware of it swirling beneath the surface. I'm outwardly calm and collected, but a feeling of general unease grows. I get butterflies in my stomach and my heart flutters. It passes slowly as time goes on, but it results in feeling absolutely horrible day in and day out.

Beyond that, I have a multitude of things that I MUST accomplish, and I put them off every single day. I'll do it tomorrow when I'm feeling a little better. A little more motivated. A little less miserable. And I don't. I repeat today's experience. What did I accomplish today on my huge laundry list of shit? NOTHING. I got my tax returns (prepared for me LAST WEEK) signed and put in envelopes, but not even mailed off. I still need to apply for 5 jobs by the end of this week to be caught up on that front, get my truck and motorcycle inspected, get my motorcycle insurance transferred to north carolina, pay the taxes on the bike in SC, then again in NC once it's transferred, pay the taxes on my truck, get my address updated with the DMV, with my insurance companies, on my drivers license, APPLY FOR SCHOOL which starts THIS month, update my address with Para Ordnance and find out where in the FUCK my holster, magazines, and tactical light are, look for ANOTHER new house because Chad and I are planning to move again, which means pack everything back up (and I still haven't finished unpacking in the first place). All of this is shit that needs to be done NOW, YESTERDAY, or MONTHS ago and I can't do something as simple as mail 4 fucking envelopes.

Considering what I did and who I was merely a year ago, this is fucking scary.

And this is without addressing any of my big problems. This is just the little basic shit.

So here I am at 3:15 am again unable to sleep, in spite of the fact that I haven't had real sleep since last week.

People say this shit all the time but you know what? Fuck my life.

Here's a bit of a tip. If I haven't been posting, I haven't been running. Yeah. Been a lazy ass for a couple weeks now. I'm having a lot of difficulty finding the motivation to do much of anything at all. On a perhaps related note, a year after returning from my last trip to afghanistan I've come to realize that while I hated the army and I hated all the shit I had to hide while there, I really miss fighting the war.