I came damn close to breaking one of my internal blogging rules this week. I share a great deal of myself here, but there are a few things that I try to keep away. I try not to talk about real personal stuff. By which I mean I try not to post any accounts of events that could be linked back to a person that they might not want broadcast to the internet. Of course that's not the rule I almost broke. I also don't want to post while bitter.
I know that it's the time of year when bitterness is in the air. A lot of people are too happy to notice it, but as the year winds up to it's 45th day a good chunk of us start to curse a certain saint. And I think that the fact that last year I didn't spend the day alone (though I did stupidly not make any moves on the pretty girl who did spend Valentine's with me) is contributing to make this year worse.
And it was a bad week. With Mike out of town I had virtually no social contact outside of work. And at work I let the bitterness get to me much more than I should. There has been apparently a noticable difference in my behavior throughout the week, and it culminated in a bad conversation over pizza on Friday. I definetly needed to be put in my place (like I was) when I stepped over the line. And in addition to 'get over yourself' lesson, I'm going to try to take away some rhetoric tricks so I don't look at the experience as a waste.
Actually, the grain of sand that allowed that precipitate to form came earlier that day, and almost got it's own post entitled 'Even the blood bank doesn't want the product of my heart'. I had actually been turned down from donating because of low iron levels. Seems silly with the amount of red meat I consume (and I like to think I get a healthy concentration of spinich in my diet as well). Of course I did some research and learned that coffee blocks iron absorption, so maybe it's time to cut back.
Of course a title like that makes me realize that I'm not actually creating a whole lot of metaphorical cardiac product, and definetly gets me thinking that I should start putting in some effort. But I've digressed almost to the point of bitterness again, so let's return the what this post is supposed to be about.
Starting Saturday morning it started to turn around for the better.
I went to a yoga class at my gym. I had to set my alarm to make the 8:15a.m. class and naturally wanted to go back to sleep when it woke me up so early on a weekend. And then the really weird part started to settle in. The fear. I was actually afraid of going to a yoga class. I couldn't entirely figure out what I feared, but there was definetly the same feeling I get before having to talk to people at a conference, or call someone I don't know that well on the phone.
I actually had to pull out the resolution-esque "don't let fear run you" in ordeer to convince myself to go. I think deep down I feared that I was going to get yelled at my the instructor that I was holding people back. I've gotta be the only person in the history of the world who actually feared getting yelled at my a yoga instructor.
But I went. And I joined the class. And I yoga'd (or whatever the past tense of a noun'ed yoga would be). I had picked the class that had expressly mentioned strength in the description (of course it had flexibility as well), and I guess I can see how people can get a work out from it (I'm not talking about Bikhram Yoga however. Doing anything in 105 degree heat seems like it would be a good exercise to me), but what I really liked was how at the end of an hour and a half, how relaxed I was. It was absolutely amazing how big a difference I had experienced in my emotional state.
Of course leaving the gym, I thought "well this is nice. I'll feel better for a couple of hours at least", and as it turns out I was remarkably good at estimating time this weekend. Fortunately there were two more events that day that helped twist me around more permanently.
The first of those is that Ishy and I finally found Fort Funston. This place is amazing. It's a huge sandy cliff over a beach with miles of trails, and literally hundreds of off leash dogs. I was so amazed at how well Ishy followed me (and my voice commands to call him), and just how nice it was to not have to worry about keeping him within 6 feet.
He played and romped with so many dogs and got so tired, that it was a delight for me to watch. Though he did get into his first real fight there as well. I'm not sure who started it (I was watching the waves during the time when whoever threw the first punch), but I did turn as soon as I heard growling and barking, and was surprised to see it was Ishy. I've never seen him bear his teeth before, and I had to actually get in there and restrain him. So did the other owner as the other dog was actually following my and Ishy as I led him away.
First off, I'm kinda proud that when they started at each other, I just jumped in to separate them, and wasn't worried about myself. I only cared that the two dogs needed to be separated. And secondly (and I'm glad he can't read this), I'm proud of Ishy. I'm proud that he can hold his own. I'm proud that if needed he could defend me. And he's got a helluva bark.
And after a good time at the beach I we headed home to spend some afternoon time resting on the couch. And then for dinner Andrew and Lexi invite me to come out to go to Izzy's. It's a steak and chops place right across the 101 (it's actually next to the airport, and there was an unmanned helicopter sitting just on the other side of the fence from the parking lot. I had to fight all my GTA instincts not to jump the fence and try to hotwire it). The three of us haven't gone out together as much since the dieting started (and Jaime and Ishy moved in), so it was definetly nice to go out and talk with people over dinner.
And apparently Andrew's job is preventing them from spending Monday together. I don't want to let that make me feel any better, but it does just the same.