A good deed

Today I got cash at the Whole Foods in Union Square and shoved it in my pocket, sat in front of the park and ate my sandwich with a friend, and got on the six train and went to spanish class. I am always late for spanish class and today was no exception, and I hate being late to it, so I was running madly across 42nd street. I had just reached the building when some tapped me on the shoulder and handed me the $40 and the cash receipt I had put in my pocket. I was too astonished to even offer him part of the money, which would have been a nice gesture. I guess maybe I had some good kharma coming back to me today.

Off the Hook

It's really beautiful outside. It's too beautiful, as in you must be outside or it means you are wasting your day. I made the perfect cup of coffee this morning and then I went for a forty minute run, and then a thirty minute walk and then did crunches and stretches in the grass. Forty minute runs are a big accomplishment for me because I am often not quite in good enough shape to keep going for that long, but also because my left foot sometimes starts radiating pain just below my toes on minute 25 or so. I've got a good pair of shoes, and my foot cooperated right up until the end of the run. But when I put some weight on it during a stretch, I couldn't do it. I'm now icing it, which always seems to help, but I think this means I can forego salsa class. It can wait until Monday.

I have blogged about it before, but Achtung Baby is a good workout album as well as a good post break-up meditation, and it treated me well this morning. I keep wondering when the post-break up period is going to come to an close. It might be that it will happen just the second I fall in love with someone else. Or it could be that even though I know we were ill-fated and very unlikely to be happy together, there was a special and unique connection between us unlike any other in the world and when that comes to an end it requires a respectable mourning period. (For him of course, he brought a clanging shut to the mourning perhaps four to six weeks after with the inauguration of a new relationship. I'm not bitter, exactly, just curious as how he could let go of the bittersweetness so quickly.) So the question for me is, what is the mourning period? How long does it last?

Work and play

It's a long holiday weekend and I am trying to get myself together to do a big cleaning. Also a big run. (A big run for me, that is.) Also, I screwed myself on the holiday part of things because two weeks ago, I insisted that I must do x, y, z in the office and got myself reprimanded for I don't know what exactly, stepping on someone's toes, stepping out of my role, some silliness like that. It came down to power and ego. But now the deadline is Tuesday for this thing I said I must be allowed to do before we do y or z. So Monday when everyone is grilling tofu pups on their fire escapes, I will be writing a memorandum.

Another option for the day is a salsa class. But it's with a teacher I don't know. It's scary. Maybe I will drag myself down there anyhow.

I can't remember if we said goodbye

Big Bad Love was on IFC tonight. It's cool. A little odd. There is a scene where a state trooper and someone getting a ticket do an impromtu tango, and lot's of other good music, including Steve Earle and Tom Waits. So I enjoyed it. I was too tired to go to salsa workout tonight. I went home and ordered sushi. But I went for a little jog, so that is worth something. It takes exactly fifteen minutes to run to the foot of the hill that the Cloisters is on, and exactly fifteen minutes to run back. So that is what I did.

John Stewart is in reruns AGAIN this week, so I don't know what to do with myself in the critical hour when midnight approaches. I did call my father and read him the AP story about the narrowly avoided legislative showdown, which for the life of me I cannot see why I should think it is a good thing. (He did, naturally.)

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

I know Wilco made a silly and arrogant documentary about the making of it, and it's been touted from east to west as the best thing as sliced bread until everyone is totally tired of it, but Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is really good to listen to when you are feeling blue.

What was I thinking when I said it didn't hurt?

Some noise and then some quiet

Saturday around noon I took the subway downtown and was entertained by this baseball team from Washington Heights that was enthralled with this Italian woman who was on the train. They all got on at 168th street and I heard one of the men ask her something in Spanish. When she told him she didn't speak Spanish, she was from Italy, their ears all kind of perked up and they all started asking her questions. What followed was like a talent show. Between 145th and 59th they literally took turns dancing and rapping to impress her. She was staying with friends in Washington Heights, she explained and she made the error of saying she didn't like the men in that neighborhood, she like didn't like Dominicans, with a little wrinkle of her nose. That provoked a series of guffaws and hoots, and pleas from the guys in the group that were Dominican.

They were charmed by her, I was charmed by them being charmed by her. I couldn't tell if she liked the attention or was actually a little overwhelmed by it. That kind of thing all the time would be tiresome, I imagine.

The rest of the weekend was quiet. I did have some communication with my ex, which frankly was just very sad all the way around. I go for weeks at a time where I am totally resolved and know its for the best and then suddenly out of no where, I can't stand the fact that I can't talk with him. (But I really can't talk with him now, that would be a disaster.) I had no idea it would be this hard to let go of someone. Even with the full acknowledgement of everyone involved that there isn't any way that it would work out.

Rich Text File

The problem with dating is the fact that it usually involved break-ups. And the thing about break-ups is that they continue to suck for months and months after the fact. So after weeks of circumspection and feeling better and knowing in your heart it is all for the best, you suddenly realize you are still raw and hurting and miss talking to the person more than you possibly could have imagined. And you really can't call them up and talk to them, and you know from experience that emailing is also something of an excercise in torture. Smart people would leave well enough alone and wait for the feeling to pass. But I am not a smart person. Living in modern times, I experimented with text messaging my ex last night. I probably shouldn't read too much into the eight word answer I got back, but it seemed to speak volumes about the degree to which he was moving on, and was preoccupied with new issues and problems, and not necessarily all that interested in hearing from me. I mean, it's natural for people to feel that way, but its still somewhat jarring. So the question is, is communicating with one's ex via one's blog also sort of a bad idea? Discuss.

Home again

D.C. was apparently not worthy of comment, since I didn't see any reason to blog at all for five days. I finished my second conference and got back to work and plunged into all the other things I have to do. I taught an English class last night which was fun. Although I did all these drills where everyone said, "I am wearing red shoes. You are wearing red shoes. She is wearing red shoes." And so on. I was starting to hate myself for putting these nice people through this excercise.