At dinner last night, J. was telling us how she and her friend ran around Monteagle all day because they have some 20 mile trail around town there and her friend wanted to do it. For fun. Not in a marathon or anything. Just “Let’s go out and run twenty miles and it if takes us all day to do it, cool.”
All I could think is that it would suck so hard to be kicked by J. Because not only would you be kicked by someone who can run 20 miles for fun, but she has the stamina to keep kicking you for hours.
I went out to dinner because I’m trying so hard to just fake feeling like myself in hopes that I will fall into the habit of it. But then I said something so stupid later to a friend of mine on Twitter–like I meant to be all “oooh, it’s spooky, like you’re hearing from the depths of some other dimension” but it came across like “talking to you is a chore.” And, on the one hand, it’s not that big a deal. I apologized. She joked about it. But I still just felt like, ugh, this disconnect between my thoughts and my interaction with the world.
Even my walk this morning was complete weird bullshit. My body was having a lovely time. I physically felt better. But my brain was just “Fuck no, I’m not enjoying this. I’ll be up here pouting like a 14 year old Cure fan.”
Still, I feel better than I have in ages. I think this is just the pain that comes with using a body part–in this case my “my life is not completely fucking stupid” part–that hasn’t had a lot of exercise. It’s a little wonky until it gets its groove back.