I Can’t Believe That Was Only Two Weeks Ago

I Can’t Believe That Was Only Two Weeks Ago

So, I went to Tacoma and ran a half-marathon across that city. After surviving a plane ride from Minneapolis, thanks to Xanax.

I ran the half and finished and wasn’t last to cross the finish line, either. I couldn’t have done it without Gretchen, talking to me, giving me bits of Power Bar, telling me to walk the water stops, to walk the hills, telling me all sorts of things that kept my mind off the distress going on in my body. The last mile was all downhill, literally, which I appreciated. The only lasting effects were some giant blisters on my feet. I’d totally do it again next year. Also, I ran over a suspension bridge! And through some stadium called Cheney Stadium, which I hope was not named after Fuckface Cheney.

Then I went to my residency for grad school and whir/whoosh/wahoo, that was over in ten days, and after many beers and lectures and workshops and salmon dinners and side conversations while brushing my teeth and buying coffee and smoking cigarettes (don’t panic, it was a Las Vegas kind of reaction), the Residency Monster spit me out back to my home in Minneapolis (thanks to Xanax for making the flight home completely unmemorable).

I am home with the mandate to read some Lorrie Moore and Edna O’Brien and pick one of the best of the YA books I go through like underwear and write some reviews of all three. Then to keep working on my second novel and some short stories. My mentor this year for grad school is awesome and I can’t wait to start working.

Also, I’ve decided I need arm muscles. Because I want to get another tattoo – such a noble reason – and my arm is probably the only place for it, and I don’t want to have a tattoo with bingo wings. So it’s clean eating (barf) and weight lifting and, of course, running from here on out.

Also, I’m done with summer. I haven’t even eaten a tomato out of our garden and I’m done. I think next year we’ll just plant the raised beds with wild flowers and say fuck it. Go to the farmer’s market when we want vegetables. Leave the farming to the professionals.

Also, today I went to the Steele County Fun Fair and I really tried, I did, to be a sport about it, the heat and the crowds and the depressing nature of people with meth mouth pushing strollers and the bad tattoos and the obesity and the fried pickles and the flagrant safety violations, but then I made a fatal move and told Tilly I’d go on the Tilt-A-Whirl with her and all my good intentions went straight to hell.

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