because of spilled milk

I think I set hell in motion at work yesterday.

I spilled my breakfast in my lap and spent the first couple of hours wet and smelling like milk.

I wanted to explode.

I'm tired. I had to run 6 miles last night and 12 more on Saturday. My ankle is in pain and I'm near positive that I'm iron deficient. I spent most of work yesterday researching injury prevention and how to fix my form for running.

Marathon training is getting harder. My runs are longer and I have to really be good about setting aside time to go when it's not baking outside. On top of that - water. I think I've always spent my life in a borderline state of dehydration. I've never been good at staying hydrated, and now when I need it the most I still just can't quite give up the soda. I can pound a good 32 oz water bottle into me by noon, but after that I spend my afternoons tired and bloated and sick of the stuff.

Before I fell asleep the night before, I was informed via social media that someone I really care about had lied to me. Over a petty thing. But I fell asleep crying with a sick feeling inside.

So yesterday morning I wanted to cry - over spilled milk.

After running home to change I came back to work, feeling a bit better after the walk. Grateful that I live close to my job to allow for that, and that my boss was kind enough to let me leave. Upon getting back she and I sat chatting. I needed it. I told her about the roommate drama and she gave me the validation I needed.

Then a kid threw up. All over the playground. I sat reading books to him until a teacher brought down another child who was sobbing with a big scratch across her face. We dealt with the neosporin, and my boss brought the culprit of the scratch in to sit with me. Mom picked up the sick kid, and I sat with a new student: a 4-year-old who thought it was ok to scratch the entire side of an older child's face because she bumped into him. Then from down the hall came the frustrated cries of another child being pulled from class for punching another student.

So there my boss and I sat. The two of us with these kids wondering which of us was the cause for the chaos.

We got through it though. Laughed and joked, rolled our eyes and found some little things to be grateful for. Whether it was another child in the afternoon class showing his new invention, or the fact that I had a fun night with friends to look forward to.

Something my boss mentioned made me really think though. As I told her I had jokingly wanted to cry over spilled milk she said it was a symptom. And I got to thinking about what my disease must have been and I discovered it was just self-pity.

And just being able to recognize that helped me yank myself out of that gutter and get over it.

I've never been a fan of self-pity and when I find myself brooding in it, the fear of being there gets me running out of the muck like a madman.

I don't let myself wallow. Wallowing is destructive. It can tear you apart from the inside out leaving you half empty and darkly hollow.

So I didn't cry over spilled milk. I didn't curl up in a ball and let the pity surround me in the dark. I pulled out a book and I read about Ophelia. I listened to Isaac Russell and let his music sooth my soul. I grabbed a soda and said damned if I have to go run 6 miles still tonight, I'm doing whatever I want right now.

And you know what? The sun kept shining through it all.

can't stop. won't stop.

I really did not like this song when I first heard it. In fact I can probably replicate the face I made at Kali when she tried to make me listen to it in the car on the ride home from climbing.

But here I am, slouched splendidly in my chair at work and I've listened to it 28 times (I might be on the 29th currently as I type this).

That's almost an entire hour and a half straight of the same ridiculousness. And don't worry that it's not on Spotify, so I haven't had it just on repeat. I actually had to go in to YouTube every time and click "replay" 28 (make that 30) times.

Ignore the earrings! If I stare at them too long I start to ponder on my own credibility.

because this is our fortress

We had the AC company come hook the swamp cooler up this morning. Which was such a blessing seeing as we had been baking in our beds all week and had resorted to sleeping on the porch.

I had such an interesting stirring as they worked outside - climbing all over the house, yelling orders, banging things against the windows. It was like being a kid again, kneeling by my parents' bedroom window as the crew broke ground for our first swimming pool in steamy Arizona.

There was something homey about it - this was my fortress and I was the keeper of it. I wanted to kneel by the window and watch, I wanted to take them lemonade like we had years ago. I sat for a moment wondering if I just enjoyed watching people do manual labor. But it wasn't that. I actually wanted to go out and help, I wanted to climb all over the house plugging in hoses, wiping sweat from my brow. It was envy. I wanted to be the one digging in the dirt, showing the fruits of my labor. Taking care of the home I live in. Standing by it with a grin on my face and a first place ribbon in my hand.

But instead I sat on the couch reading Brenda Ueland - which isn't a bad thing - and I'm sure others envy my peaceful morning. But I've never been one to want to be lazy. I need purpose, something that will move my limbs and show that I have been productive as hell today. And I have the dirty fingernails to prove it.

I found myself actually missing yard work. Missing those early (and I mean early) Saturday mornings when Mom and Dad would drag us out of bed to weed, pick citrus, seed the grass. I missed those mornings where we fortified our fortress, our home that protected us through all the dust storms, Arizona monsoons, and the wiles of world.

And I realized that I couldn't wait to drag my own kids out of bed, and alongside my husband and rat pack stand by our prize and with grins on our faces wipe the sweat from our brow and show our dirty fingernails.