I've always been afraid that I have a case of arrested development. That I write because I am just a little girl who thinks she is a poet.
This is probably why I shy away from Poe. Twelve year old, melancholy girls love Poe. Not I. But here I am, blogging about boys who don't want me and the random thoughts that jump in the back of the mind.
In the morning, I will run. I will fill these lungs with wind and acid. I will tear tiny fractures in my muscles. my heart will pound out of my chest and I will be a girl no longer, but a woman again.
There is a moment when you run that clears your whole head. You are filled with these great endorphins and float thru it all. I love to run in the city, in any city. I moved to the city mostly for the running, I think. I belong to the secret society. People who are willing to suffer in plain sight for vanity, or lust, or addiction, or pride.
When I do speed work, I like to pretend I am running away. From parents, or work, or clients, or problems, or myself. This is the only time when heartache feels good.
I wonder if this is intensifying emotional heartache, though. Things that shouldn't sting ache lately. They call for action.
I joined a kickball team. First game is tomorrow. I'll post the play by play…