I just walked my entire yard. And back up to my balcony. Looking for the moon.
Because Fall Risk messaged saying how huge it was.
And I wanted to see.
But I’ve got no fucking clue where to look for it.
I used to think I’d survive an apocalypse.
Survive. Hell, I thought I’d thrive an apocalypse.
Y’all know. I’ve bragged about it here. In, like, every other post.
But my subconscious lately…
My dream world is getting…worrisome.
Based on last night’s dreams. I’m pretty sure I’d spend the apocalypse just looking for the animals. To cuddle them.
Is this where the cats live now?
Can I pet the puppies?
Does that bear have a person?
And it’s starting to create new worries.
Like, forcing myself onto every fucking animal like Mindy probably isn’t the best end of world survival skill.
In another dream last night, I expressed concern that someone’s pembermass was not at a healthy level.
The fuck does pembermass mean?
Is that even a word?
My subconscious is just making shit up now?
Look. I think I need my trails back.
I ran 39 miles last week.
All of them road.
Do y’all know what that does to a trail runner’s body?
I spent 9 miles yesterday running every damn side road I could find. Just to get some elevation.
I managed to find, like, 1,000 feet.
But road. Just so much road.
Y’all bout to learn just how petty I can be. If you didn’t already know.
But since they closed the mountains. (Seriously. The fucking mountains are closed, y’all.)
My newsfeed is filled with “super secret you can’t know because we’re the only ones who get to run them” trail posts.
And. Fuck. Ok.
This is seriously screwing with my severe issues with not being included.
Which Rogue was starting to counsel me through. Before the pandemic fucked it all up.
If you hear me mumbling about burning the apartment down. Don’t worry. It’s not real. It’s totally metaphorical.
But I get it. I get not wanting to announce it to the world. So those get shut down, too.
But also. All we’ve gotta do is look at your fucking Strava map. Because we’re runners. And we’re not capable of running something. And not recording it.
I mean, how am I gonna know I ran 39 miles last week? If it’s not on Strava??
But also, I get it.
Because we spent years telling people, just get out on the trails. Climb a mountain. You’ll love it!
And then the pandemic hit.
And everyone came out on the trails. And started climbing mountains. “Our mountains.” And fucked it all up for everyone.
Like. Y’all. Chill. Don’t everyone go to the same damn mountain at the same damn time. Just be cool. Spread that shit out a little bit. We need those.
I know. I know. I know.
I’m being super petty.
But I wasn’t able to burn the apartment down before the pandemic hit.
And so I’m sitting here in my house.
Watching y’all out there on your super secret but also if I can figure out how to read a map I could easily find them trails.
And I’m over here just running fucking road. Relentlessly. Trying to find some kind of outlet.
Those are mountains way off in the distance.
I’ve got no idea which mountains.
No idea how to get to them.
No idea if they’re open.
But I see them out there. Taunting me. At this point in my run. Every other day.
I need those mountains.
Because I went to bed to the sounds of work emails. Coming in. Nonstop. For three hours. Last night.
Which means another 9-10 solid hours sitting at my dining room table again today.
And not on a mountain.
And it’s getting to me.
But. I mean. Don’t worry.
I won’t find your super secret trails.
I can’t read a map.
I can’t even find the fucking moon in my own backyard.
But I’ve got PlayFITStayFIT classes. That I’m forcing Fall Risk to go to. And maybe Rogue. So, I guess that’s something.
Pretty sure I’m gonna spend tonight looking for metaphorical matches. After my 10 hours of work.
And researching super secret trails.
And trying to figure out what the fuck pembermass means.
Because dream me seemed really concerned about it. So I think it’s maybe pretty important.