Thursday, May 22, 2014

I love my iPhone. I love Facebook. I love Instagram. I love iCloud and linked calendars. I'm connected and I've got a pretty high Klout score to prove it.

But, I'll tell you what I'm starting to dislike...


I remember the days that you called and left a message on someone's answering machine and if the tape was out of space, then you were out of luck. Before that people had just call and see if you answered. Before that people had to mail letters. And before that people had to GO TO YOUR HOME (and it was ON FOOT and UPHILL BOTH WAYS) to talk to you. Talk about dedication.

No one does that anymore. No one shows up unannounced or surprises people. No one leaves voicemails. No one writes letters - we hardly write emails - who is going to write a letter?! (Other than Gabe who writes amazing letters complete with wax seal.)

We all text. Maybe we call first, but then we text. And we expect immediate gratification in the form of a text back. Right? You look for those three little dots on your iMessage that mean someone is typing. Heaven forbid they get distracted and those little dots just stay there for awhile.

They're mad at me. They don't like me. They're avoiding me. I said something wrong.


It's sincerely starting to give me anxiety. 

While you're taking your precious time texting back a.k.a. hating me a.k.a. just living your life in a way that doesn't involve your iPhone, I'm over here analyzing it. Not sleeping. Checking my phone over and over again because maybe it's on silent. 

Nope. It's not on silent and there's no message. 
Maybe it's on Do Not Disturb. (zips into settings) 
Nope. Not on Do Not Disturb. Still no message.
Maybe my iPhone is broken. I should turn it off and back on.
(Why is it taking so long to power on?)
Nope. No little red number has appeared next to my messages.
I'm just gonna wait 10 minutes before I check again.
(4 minutes pass.)
This must have been 10 minutes. Oh, only 4 minutes.
No message.
Maybe I should check my iPad messages.

Maybe I should chill the fuck out because I've wasted a massive amount of time waiting for someone who has a life (or maybe actually is avoiding me and I shouldn't be wasting my time with them) to respond to me and I've got nothing to show for it.

We've taken the meaning and work out of communication and replaced it with laziness and anxiety.

Maybe if we stopped texting so much, we'd get on with our lives.

Of course, we're doing this to ourselves and I am the guiltiest of all, but as long as I can't sleep and I'm thinking about it, then I should at least get a blog post out of it.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Something a lot of people would never guess about me:

I've run a half marathon.

I mean, if I was playing two truths and a lie and I threw that tidbit in there, then 99% of the time people would probably choose it as a lie. Why? I hate running. And I'm pretty vocal about it.

I don't hate running for the usual reasons. Although I do find difficult, boring and hard on my ankles.

I used to run. A lot. I dated this guy who was a runner. The first time he moved away, I started running to fill the time I used to spend with him so I wouldn't be so sad and so we would have something to talk about in letters, etc. I would run maybe two times a week and do pilates the rest. (Pilates will whip you into some firmness, btw.)

The second time he moved away, he started to run more - I'm talking 8-11 mile runs multiple times a week. This led to him often forgetting to return calls or being too tired to talk for a long time or not having time at all. So, the more he ran, the more I ran. I was lonely and I was angry. Oh, running helped you work off those feelings? Nope. Running made me try to fix those feelings. I shouldn't be angry, I should be proud and understanding. I shouldn't be lonely, I should be working on my own health. My feelings seemed invalid, so I ran to change them. I ran so we would have that one thing in common to hold onto.

I was running 5-7 days a week and 3-5 miles each time I ran. I was fit. I was angry. I was lonely.

I was running to hold onto something that he didn't want to hold onto - for a relationship he didn't want to be responsible for anymore. And we broke up. And it was hard and the worst kind of hurt.

I kept running. I thought if I kept running, then I could fix how hard it felt to be single again. I was still angry. I was still lonely. And I kept running. The less angry and lonely I began to feel, the less I ran, but I still held it in back pocket because I wasn't really over it all.

Finally, in 2011, I ran a half marathon with very little proper training. I ran those 13.1 miles and was tired and in pain, but I felt so amazing that I had completed such a feat. It felt like happiness and it felt like closure and it felt like I would never run again.

And I haven't run again. Not really. Partially because it's difficult, boring and hard on my ankles. Mostly because it's part of a really painful time in my life. It was an activity I used to hide part of who I was and cling to who I wanted to be even though I never really enjoyed it - the difficulty of the relationship or the actual running.

So, I don't do things I hate anymore because I don't want to feel less than me - less authentic.

And that's one of my two truths. It's not a lie.

I don’t want to do it, and it’s really liberating to say no to shit you hate. So you go ahead. You live your truth. I’ll be here, living my truth. - Hannah, GIRLS