The hating bitch and the motorcycle

Why? Why why why can’t I find compromise between a good mood and bad mood? Why do I have such strong feelings that I keep inside only to cripple myself? I wish I could take the easy out and blame it all on the notorious P.M.S., but this bitter ale has been brewing for weeks, and I can accurately identify at least 17 things that have made me a real crank lately, and that doesn’t include a host of things on my buffet I am unaware of, yet still drive me to feel like I want to rip the face off of earth itself.

It’s been some time now I feel off-kilter and restless, but I swear that every day this week it seems like there is something that happens that simply pushes me across the line. Although it would be satisfying to break stuff, blow up in a screaming fit, or even murder, I am not the type who enjoys conflict. Instead of getting angry, I result to my classic, though not always effective, 3-step action plan:

1) Leave
2) Figure out how to best deal with the situation
3) Either come back to it later and solve or just decide its something that is easier to internalize and then bike-ride off.

I’ve been feeling consistently sour over the course of each day this week, but Friday morning I woke up especially cranky and frustrated. I hate waking up cranky. In protest I gathered myself, made my list of angry-making sh*t that needed to be taken care of, and decided I would hack at it ASAP. As I begrudgingly get ready for the day’s hacking, I entertain the idea that maybe all this funk is actually a sign that I’m depressed. Maybe I should call someone to talk about it and nip this wilted rose in its rotting bud. I call a trusty old source, waiting for an invitation, or at least a good segway to be able to say, “I need to talk.” But no, she talks about herself the whole time. Of course she does, I’m the listening friend, remember? Grumble. Maybe I can wait for at least pause to interject... but nope, no pause.

I wait and listen for a while longer… Nope, not then either.

My emotional ammo’s still loaded.. wait for it, wait for it…. NOW! Ahhh- missed again! Another story about her car trouble comes from the left side, knocking Angela in the right ear.

Instead of being assertive, like all the educational videos and self-help books say to do, I decide that right now is not the time to interrupt my obviously needing friend with my own concerns, and being assertive is not something I feel like putting out the effort to do in this moment. Hanging up and avoiding altogether would be much more my style, and much more effective than building silent resentment or blowing up about something to which she is totally oblivious. “Good chatting with you, and good luck. I need to go.” And with that, I am left feeling the conversation was a waste of my time and with a mood still incredibly itchy. But because I am still overwhelmingly irritated, I am definitely not depressed. Back to plan A- must take action- must take care of my sh*t list.

I purposely write a physical list down so I can press really hard with my pen as I cross each item off. Some of the things I was able to take care of right off the bat, some of the things I was just going to breathe off and then later burn away like extra calories. But some of the things just fueled my hungry, angry fire. *grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*

For example, I need to call back lady I have been playing phone tag with for weeks. Today she finally decides to pick up her phone after her many pleads for me to “call ASAP” only resulted in me leaving countless voice mail messages. All of which she responded to days later to with "please call me ASAP!" Bad Omen #1- ignored. But, alas, we finally have a common time to meet and to take care of some dirty business. This is all conferred through a conversation that is made over shotty phone reception, mind you. Crappy reception= Bad Omen #2. I should have heeded its advice to not proceed. We decide to meet in 40 minutes at my house, but she makes me wait…. For two hours. Of course, each Bad Omen ignored is punishable by one hour's wait.

I must have forgotten to mention I already decided I didn’t like her with the first two rounds of phone tag, I've got two Ignored Bad Omens itching under my belt, and that I hate people who make me wait… for two hours, and then proceed to call me with crappy phone reception to inform me that she is finally on her way. But of course, I have a smile on my face when we meet and I am extremely accommodating because I know I have no reason to upset a person I hopefully will never meet again…. Bring me my bike!

A couple hours of an okay ride leaves me feeling neutral, which is all quickly negated by coming home to 4 gargled messages from this same damn lady because she forgot to tell me something. Oh my God, I hate cell phones. I hate messages. I hate this situation. I hate this lady. I was going to retreat to the office to do some work and escape the situation, but I decide that in this mood, attempting anything productive would be entirely useless- get out of the house, Angela. Just get out of the house!

I leave the city limits and I am happy that I run into friends while I’m out on the town, but I still feel a crippling sense of irritation that, invisibly to all others, but blinding to me, projects itself on every innocent human being who feels brave enough to attend Arts Arcata the same night as me. Oh my god, I hate people who walk slow in crowds on the sidewalk and don’t let faster people pass. I hate people who smell like pot in public. I hate Arts Alive roamers who take the last 4 slices of cheese and 3 crackers when I am hungry too. I hate seeing expensive things that I wouldn’t buy anyway. I hate that tonight isn’t as fun as Arts Alive in Eureka was last week.

I quickly and bluntly realize that I am very tired, too. I like being around my friends, but I certainly don’t feel my normal, funny self, I can’t seem to put a coherent sentence together to save my life, and I feel sorry that I imposed myself on them. I hate having tired thoughts like this. They re-assure me that I'm not a tag by inviting me out to do more fun stuff.

So, normally this is no big deal, right? "What a nice group of people," you may even be thinking. But if you are keen to having crappy weeks, you know that everything seems to somehow manage to become a problem, even when you are doing something as "simple" as hanging out with friends. But you see, in this particular day, I’m hanging out with one group of friends and want to join them on their plans, but I’m also backlogged with tentative plans with two other separate friends. It's a social juggling act of having to put one on hold until I hear from the other one who hasn’t called me back and it’s been... two hours. Another two hours of waiting. All the plans with each set of friends sound fun, but *grumble grumble grumble* I am tired. I hate being tired on a fun night. I hate putting plans on hold. I hate waiting and wondering. I hate making people wait and wonder.

I am asleep that night by 9:15 pm and I wake up again at 9:25 am the next day. Obviously I needed it, but today, I hate it when I sleep in.

Once again, I am cranky upon rising. I hate feeling like this. I need a fix. I decide that I need to do something for myself, something entirely self-serving and that costs money. I call up a salon to get my hair did. I rush to get ready because she’s got an opening in 45 minutes. I hop on my bike and ride fast because I don’t want to be late. She would hate that, right? 22 minutes after my arrival she comes out to tell me she’ll need to reschedule because “this one’s taking longer than I thought.” I hate waiting only to find out I have to wait until tomorrow. *Grumble* I ride home and decide to see if maybe I can get a massage with this blank check that’s burning in my pocket. Maybe I just need to relax and be touched by a non-hating human being. That will make me feel better. I arrive at the massage place: Closed. *Grumble*

On my way home, a girl in a big truck stops at the stop sign on an intersection. Good girl. Even though I have the right-of-way, I make sure we make eye contact because, as all bikers should, I don’t trust cars. When I am almost directly in front of her I notice her truck begins to move forward. I look at her and see she’s looking down, even though her truck is moving forward when I am in front of it. I decide she is an idiot, and I decide I hate her. Then to my blood pressure’s dismay, I learn that she is texting. I hate people who text and drive.

Everything will be fine at home, I thought. Home is safe. I come home and want to find solace in a fudecicle. I open up the freezer and about 5 things fall out onto the floor. I hate overpacked freezers. I hate touching cold stuff. Flee the scene, Angela, flee the scene! I am planning for a half marathon event and I wanted to train this weekend anyway, so I decide to go for a run. I feel tired and slow. I hate it when I do as well as I want.

Waterfront-bound, a girl from an old chapter of my life sees me. Normally when running, I am fine with a wave, a honk, and a “hi.” At an obvious stop light, I am also fine with chit chat until the light turns green, but in this moment, I decide that from now on I should wear a neon “do not disturb” sign while I am in motion, or at lest a bag over my head, especially when it’s a difficult run. She wants to talk. I hate talking when I run. She wants to update me on her life, she wants to know how I have been. All of this takes place over a couple of minutes as she shouts at me from the opposite side of the street, hanging out from her car window, driving as slow as I’m trying to move. I can’t hate her because she’s nice, but I try to make it obvious that I don’t want to talk. I decide I hate being known as the friendly person.

I can't get away from any of it! "It," here, being everything that is the most annoying thing in the world! At numerous intersections people decide to make quick getaways at stop signs that force me to slow my pace and that force me to hate drivers. People do all sorts of stupid things on the road, and I hate all of them for all of it. A cop drives by and smiles at me and then looks at my chest. I hate him, too.

I wonder if maybe I can finally turn this day into something productive. Because I’m behind on my training, 7 miles into it I decide I’m going to take the long route back so I can push myself for another 2 and then walk an additional 2.5. That would make me feel happy. Suddenly something in my left leg flares up and then triggers a screaming pain down half of the left side of my body. Even with a shortcut, I am at least 2 miles from home and I cannot lift my left leg without the assistance of both of my arms. I hate this. My ITB has been unhappy lately, why did I even push myself in the first place? I read the websites and they all say “don’t train if your ITB is inflamed.” I hate learning my lesson. I hate it when I foolishly push myself.

I survey my options for how I am going to transport my body from point A to point B. I am way too cranky and sweaty to stop by the house of an old friend, and I don’t have a cell phone to call for a ride home. I hate it when I ignore 98% of the population that says I should carry my cell phone when I leave the house. This injury will probably set me back another couple weeks, and the half marathon I’m training for is in a month. I hate that idea. I could walk the event. I hate setting a goal and then backing down. I hate this. I hate this! I hate this! Irritated without recourse, walking home it is.

Probably about 35 minutes later I finally make it to a grassy field about a mile from my house. I lay down and stretch and try to relax, but all I can think about is how my body is not on fire because of over-training, but that my body is probably on fire because of bad juju. I hate it when I hate this much. This isn’t a torn muscle and lactic acid burning my body, this must be hate. I hate bad juju.

Anyone else would probably buckle and cry, but I hate this situation too much to waste my tears on it. Besides, I’m so dehydrated at this point I think I even stopped sweating. I hate it when I think this way. I hate it when I do this crap to myself. I hate hating!

Like a tired, frustrated mother trying to calm an unrelentlessly colicky baby, I stretch and massage for another 15 minutes until I can walk without wincing every time my left leg has access to its own weight. Not even 30 feet away from my stretching spot I walk by a house and notice a shiny, sexy motorcycle in the driveway. Even though I know nothing about motorcycles, I know this is a nice one. Inching at my worm pace, I have the time to admire this white, yellow, and chrome classic beauty.

I am startled by a man behind the bike, smiling with a satisfied “that girl thinks my bike is hot” type of smile. I catch myself and can’t help but to blush, but look down for a minute, embarrassed.

“Hello,” he says warm and confidently. His voice is smooth and genuine, and his greeting instantly comforts me with its joy and sincerity.

“Hi,” I say, looking up again, first at the bike, and then at him.

I notice he is en-route from his garage to the sidewalk, moving unnaturally, but just about at my same pace. Click clack, click clack. Wait, he’s not walking, he’s hobbling with the aide of arm crutches. Holding himself up and maneuvering the long steel posts like stilts, his upper body was in shape, but his lower body looked atrophied and had braces on it. I do a second take, probably obviously taken aback by his crutches. I tried quickly to disguise my look with a smile, but I think he noticed. I also think he didn’t mind- He flashed another smile.

I am taken aback again- at this moment I am washed clean with instant gratefulness. That man continues his daily life with a genuine kindness despite the setbacks that undoubtedly come with his crutches and physical ailments. After an interaction that was not more than 5 seconds, for the first time in 4 days I feel genuinely good. I feel truly thankful for that man, for what he appears to have in his life, and for our interaction. Who’s to say that can’t be me? Why did I just waste so many perfectly good days in a bad mood? Here I am bitching, griping, and complaining about a stupid sore muscle that will eventually heal, probably even faster than I expect it to, and he smiles and greets me despite his crutches and braces. I let ripe days rot because I decided to be angry at the world. Being the person who has taken it on as her life mission to make all CR students realize that the attitude is what makes or breaks a life, I failed to realize the same lesson also applies to my own life.

All these thoughts hit me like a sack of bricks at once. For a minute I try to brush them off, considering them an electrolyte imbalance mistaken for profoundness. But the terminally thirsty optimist inside of me tells me to shut up and just drink what's left in the friggin' glass, for Christ's sake.

Limping home, I still wince at every step and I am still frustrated by the idea of having to recover. Though the sting in my mood now feels remarkably and noticeably.... irrelevant. I don’t want to cripple myself with so much frustration and anger. I don’t want to be that anymore…. Maybe today isn’t such a bad day, after all.