Since May, I have turned into a runner. Now, I'm not a fast runner, by any means, but I am a runner. In less than a year, I went from someone who could barely run for a half mile, to someone who ran two 5ks, a 10k and a half marathon. A half freaking marathon. The Kate I knew last December would have scoffed at the idea of running 13.1 miles. Hell, the Kate I knew ten years ago, who ran cross country no less, would have scoffed at the idea of running 13.1 miles. 

I signed up for a full marathon. At the end of March. I am going to run a marathon.

I am an idiot.

Anyway, as I was running today, I realized that I hadn't written about... Well, anything in months. I mean to rectify that situation. Consider radio silence lifted. Maybe. 

April Running Calendar

I had a bit of an issue with plantar fasciitis the week before Warrior Dash, but I think it is finally resolved. I did three miles today with no pain.

Also, I ran Warrior Dash! My first race! It was awesome!

Total: 36.19

March Running Calendar

I more than doubled my mileage! 

Total Miles: 35.85

Strange

Friday evening, I went out for dinner with my older brother’s family. On the way home, my 8 year-old niece rode with me, and she started asking me about animal stuff since she knows I am a veterinary assistant and has visited me at work.

“What happens if a dog only  has one front leg?” she asked.

I patiently explained that sometimes dogs injure themselves so badly that all we can do for them is take the entire leg off since it’s better for them to not have a leg rather than dragging a leg that doesn’t work.

“You cut it off?” she asked.

I agreed, thinking I knew where she was taking the conversation.

“What do you do with it?” she asked.

I told her that we usually just throw them away.

“You thrown them away? You just throw them in the trash?”

Still thinking I knew where the conversation was going, I asked her what else we would do with them.

“They would be GREAT for making MUD PIES!”

***

Yesterday, I recounted this story to one of the veterinarians I work with, and he laughed and told me that he always knew my family was strange. We both laughed.

***

Later that day, I took a ride on a mule out through the woods. The day was cold and dreary, and the ride was nothing special until I found a dead cat in the woods.

“I’ll keep an eye on that. Once the flesh rots off, I can add that skull to my collection,” I thought.

Afraid of falling...

Don't get me wrong. I love my job. I like working there. I like the animals. I like the people. For the most part, I enjoy getting up to go to work every single day. I have worked there so long it's like my second home. 

At the same time, I hate my job. I hate that I work at a job in which the owners believe in super conservative principles. I hate that I end up feeling inadequate as an adult because I still live at home with my parents. I hate that I work at a part-time job that has no chance of upward mobility in a field that is not even anywhere in the neighborhood of what I spent SIX years learning in college. 

I suppose my problem is less with the job itself, and more with my situation in general.

At the same time, I am unable to do anything about it. I have no idea why, but I cannot bring myself to apply to ANY job. I currently have found seven jobs I am qualified for and interested in that are better paying full time jobs with benefits. I cannot apply for them.

It has to be fear. I know that I am scared of leaving my comfortable job and my comfortable family. I know I am scared. I need to take a leap. I need to take a leap and actually be the adult I want to be. I need to find a new job, and I need to get a new life.

I might have a case of the crazies.

I quit smoking in January. Once I decided to quit for realz, it stopped being an issue. I just don't smoke. I don't exactly know how that works, and I know that it doesn't work like that for most smokers, but for me, it just kind of happened that way. 

So that's one important thing that I've done this year. 

I started running in February. I am not exactly sure what possessed me to run, but it may have been a bit of the same divine intervention that made quitting smoking so easy. It is also entirely possible that I would hate to have paid money to participate in a Warrior Dash at the end of April and not actually participate. Whatever the reason, I started running in February, and just today finished a 2.25 mile run. Progress.

Running makes me feel... Really good. It hurts, and it's hard, but it makes me feel that I have accomplished something. I don't know anyone, aside from my faithful canine sidekick (the little one in the above picture), who ran 2.25 miles today. Running has also brought back the passion for life that I lost somewhere along the way. It is giving me something to work toward. I love it. 

I worry that running is going to be one of those things that I embrace for a minute, and then give up as quickly as I found a passion for it. I've been putting off blogging about it, because I don't want to lose it. Running is happiness. I found it. I don't want to lose it again.

November is the month of my first half marathon. Hopefully, 2014 will be the year of my first marathon, so I can prove that I haven't simply caught a case of the crazies.

“All crazy people have pets”

 

“Not all pet owners are crazy, but all crazy people have pets.” Anyone in the veterinary field will smile and nod knowingly, (or possibly even wince as if in pain) if you mention this little known fact. Please, whether crazy or sane, if you have pets, read this article and pass it on to any other pet owner you know. You’ll be doing me a favor.

How Not To Be A Dick At The Vet Hospital

Love,

Kate (your friendly neighborhood veterinary assistant)

February Running Calendar

I am pretty freaking proud of myself. Just saying.

Total miles: 18.5

The Amish Lifestyle

Yesterday, the snow fell. And fell. And fell. It piled, and piled, and stuck to everything. The trees drooped. The power lines sagged. We went about our business snug and happy while the storm played outside. I napped on the couch, since the Jack Frost's visit meant no working.

I jerked awake when the TV hissed at me announcing that the electricity had momentarily been out. Since it was back on, and all seemed well, I napped some more. I napped until the TV hissed again. Rinse and repeat this cycle about ten times until I woke up to silence. There is nothing like the silence of a snowy winter day without electricity.

We waited a half hour hoping that the lights would come back on. They didn't. We got bored. The silence of the snow was oppressive. I mentioned it would be less boring with the radio. My little brother excitedly mentioned that he had an old school Walkman (tape player), if someone had speakers. I had speakers. One problem solved.

That's when it started getting cold. That's when we found out 4,000 customers had no power. They put us on the list, but, really, that could mean anything. 

I remembered the kerosene heater that lives in the basement. I didn't know how to use it, but I read the instructions, and got it up and running. The little guy puts off a lot of heat. It kept us warm all day yesterday. It's chugging along in front of me as I type, and the room is getting toasty.

Once Dad came home, he got the generator up and running. It can power our fridge and freezer. We've been using it for charging our various electronics, and we even used it to watch Inception on the one television we have with a built in DVD player.

We cooked dinner. It was by far the most interesting thing we managed all day. Mom cooked our meat in the crock pot. We thought we could use the microwave to cook baked potatoes after the meat finished. Unfortunately, our generator does not produce enough juice to power a microwave. Who knew how much electricity microwaves actually use? I didn't. Guess what our generator can power: The George Foreman grill. Guess who devised a way to make French fries on that bad boy: This girl. Believe me. That might forever reign in my heart as the most interesting dinner I've ever participated in.

I hoped the power would be back on when I woke up this morning. I had plenty of this yesterday. I am a girl of the future no matter how much I like to think that I'm not. I could not cut it as an Amish housewife. 

The electric company hopes to have the power back today, but they didn't seem especially confident. I am hopeful. I need a shower.

An Open Letter to Amanda Palmer

Dear Amanda,

I'm fairly certain that if one were to go through the archives of this blog, this would not be the first letter I've written to you. If, in fact, it is the first letter I've written to you, I am surprised. If that is the case, I've written you many letters in my head. In fact, I've written this one over and over since the beginning of this week. I figure that since I'm still mulling it over after this long, I should probably write it down. It must be important to me.

I just wanted to tell you that this past Tuesday, I rediscovered my favorite album. Not just my favorite album of yours, but what is my favorite music album ever. Why should you care? Because said album wouldn't exist without you as it is The Dresden Dolls self-titled album.

I must explain. I fell in love with that album a couple of years after I graduated high school. A friend of mine who I worked with at a crappy fast food restaurant recommended it to me. I think he knew me better than I ever gave him credit for, because I fell, as he'd predicted, instantly in love with your humble little band. I memorized the songs, I followed your blog, I wished so badly that you and Brian would come close enough for me to make it to a show. When I found out that you had just released Yes, Virginia, I learned all of those songs as well, but they couldn't hold a candle to how I felt about the songs on The Dresden Dolls.

The lyrics spoke to me. The music... It made me feel something I've never been able to describe. The chemistry between you and Brian... The way you play the piano as if it is an extension of Brian's drum set... All of that together. I absolutely loved it. I rarely took it out of my car stereo.

One dark night, a man walked out in front of my car as I drove the lonely trip from my home to college. I didn't have a chance to swerve or even hit the brakes. As quickly as I saw him, he smashed into my windshield and flew over the top of my car. It was all I could do to keep the car from flipping into the ditch. I immediately called 911, but the damage was done. He died on impact.

My dear, Amanda, guess which album played as the worst day of my life... No, strike that... The worst moment of my life unfolded uncontrollably before me. You guessed it. After that day, I could never listen to that album. I could hardly stand to hear a random song from that album. What had once been beloved quickly turned into something forbidden.

Don't get me wrong. I still loved your band and your music, and I followed your career avidly as you broke with your record company, fell in love, became a sensation on the Internet. But I never felt the passion for the music that I had felt for my favorite album. After the accident, I lost a lot of things. I became depressed. I spent years watching you succeed and doing nothing myself as my life spiraled around me.

I hit bottom about a year ago. I'm on medicine. I'm alive again. I hope I never have to go back to that emotional place again, because I don't think I could survive it again.

I am going to be okay. I rediscovered your CD this week, and on Tuesday I found myself listening to The Dresden Dolls as I drove past the same spot where I had the accident. I am going to be okay.

I just wanted you to know.

Thank you for the music,

Kate Jones

In commemoration...

Today felt like spring, so the dogs and I (Yes, even my beloved, cancer-ridden baby.) went for a mile run. I realize with all the snow it really doesn't look like spring, but I assure you it was all melting.

The 85th Annual Academy Awards

 

I heard that the Oscar committee, or whoever is in charge of these kinds of things (probably some PR guru or something), decided to no longer call the Academy Awards the Academy Awards. And, God forbid, they mention how long the awards have been in existence. Instead, the powers that be decided to call them simply, The Oscars. I understand its because all the youngfolk think that if you mention 85 and use any kind of traditional name for anything, it must not be cool enough.

Now, I am a child of the 80s… or maybe 90s… (I’ve never quite been sure what to call myself, since I was born in the 80s, but spent most of my childhood in the 90s. Who knows? It’s not that important.) and I grew up every year watching the Academy Awards. I never particularly cared about them, and I rarely had even watched but one or two of the movies, but I always watched them. I’m not sure I’ve missed a year yet. That, my friends, is 28 years of watching this stodgy, old award show. Nearly 1/3 of the years it has graced this great earth.

Also, I don’t feel particularly old, but… but I suppose I’m not in the hip age group anymore. Still… I grew up with these awards. I don’t particularly think the change from The Academy Awards to The Oscars is exactly going to make anyone else watch or even care about the awards. In fact, I would almost go so far as to say that this illustrious name change makes the awards less prestigious. Almost.

That said, I took it upon myself this year, for the first time ever, to watch every, single movie up for the Best Picture award. It is a good crop of movies. I never realized exactly the quality of movies that vie for this award. After having watched them all, I can honestly say I have no idea which movie will take home the golden statue. No idea. How do people even choose? Do the judges just put all the movies in a hat and pick blindly. Or maybe they put all the names on the wall and play a game similar to Pin the Tail on the Donkey.

It doesn’t matter which movie wins in the end, I do believe that it is an honor just to be nominated. I always thought that was a cop-out, but it turns out that it is especially true.

If I were giving out the awards, I would have a hard time choosing between Argo and Silver Linings Playbook for the win. I believe the former is the better movie, but the latter… well, it features crazy people and Jennifer Lawrence. ‘Nuff said.

Until I can write a proper blog...

An Open Letter to Vermin…

Dear Mouse,

I don’t know why you decided to take up residence in my bedroom. There isn’t anything worth eating in here, and above all else, I have a cat. I thought mice were afraid of cats. That is, until I saw you fall onto his head and he did nothing. I, like my cat, did nothing. I assumed that just because he didn’t take care of the problem then, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t take care of the problem later (and by take care of the problem, I mean, eat you). I should never assume. Everyone in the world knows what assuming does.

Now my friend, dear Mouse, I didn’t have any problems sharing my space with you. You and I could have been great friends. Unfortunately, your actions have changed that. I found your droppings in my bed today. YOU CRAPPED IN MY BED. What the hell were you thinking? No one wants a roommate who uses their bed for a toilet. You could have done the toilet under my bed, or under the shelves or I don’t know… ANY WHERE BUT IN MY BED… and I would have been fine with that.

I am giving you fair warning, dearest little Mouse, tomorrow there will be traps. Tomorrow, I am declaring war. Tomorrow, may be your last day. You survived my cat, but you won’t survive me. I apologize, but you shouldn’t have crossed me. I only have one question for you. Which do you prefer: peanut butter or cheese?

Your sincerest roommate,

Kate