Better than Christmas

I splurged and had three rolls of film developed today.  Two from Frank (Nikkormat FT) and one from Flash (Minolta srT202). I have no idea which or how many of my cameras have film in them anymore, so I've been trying to play around with them and see how much film wasting I have to do...

From the Minolta:

From the Nikkormat:

I want to take my Nikkormat out behind the middle school and get it pregnant.

“Sometimes being surrounded by everyone is the loneliest, because you realize you have no one to turn to.”

I've had self-esteem issues my whole life, but I don't think I've ever felt as worthless and insignificant as I have over the last  week and a half.  With the exception of one day, my vacation was horrible. I tried to get together with friends and was completely ignored. Then there was the Warrior Dash. It was kind of a big deal to me. I'd been talking about it for months, and some of the girls at work started talking about coming out with their kids and making a little party of it. That made me happy because I don't  really get to hang out with or talk to my coworkers outside of work, and I was looking forward to hanging out. 

In the end, no one came. (Except for one of the girls, but we never knew for sure she was coming and with no phone reception at Horning's Hideout, we didn't get her messages until we were on our way home.)  J is the only one who even called to talk to me that morning.  So I ran my first race feeling like shit. My heart wasn't in it, and I was so fed up and irritated, I wanted to forget the whole thing. It was hard. Really hard. I still don't know where I got the strength to finish. I wanted to quit a thousand times, but something kept me going, and I dragged myself up and over every obstacle, despite the pain. And though I was out there with a co-worker and former co-worker, there was no one waiting for me on the other side of the finish line. I thought I would feel something at the end of my first race, but I didn't. I just felt empty. I watched people hug and kiss and celebrate and I felt about as worthless as the mud I'd just crawled through. 

But I got my medal and I drank my free beer and I went home knowing that I'd put my mind to something and I'd seen it through from start to finish. I may not have done my best, but I did it.  I don't often have the opportunity to feel good about myself, but somewhere deep down, I knew I should be proud. When I limped into work the next night, I got hugs and congratulations and people were proud of me. That meant a lot to me. I know that it's hard to make plans when you have kids and responsibilities (and Horning's is so far away), but I still felt like I hadn't been important enough to make the effort. 

I don't speak up when I'm hurt or upset -I never have- so how can I still be upset that no one came out to support me? I guess I'm just an asshole. There were so many times last week that I picked up the phone and tried to call someone, but I couldn't do it. I can't find the nerve to say, "I'm upset and I need to talk." I guess I don't want to chance reaching out and being brushed off or just flat out ignored. 

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear."

Mud, sweat and beer.

The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's.

Today is my baby boy's 14th birthday. I love you, Tank.

Pictures, in no particular order.

Tank - home - August 2010


Meathead and Tank - Sauvie Island - June 2008


Tank, Tonto, Geronimo, Zak and Brandi - Watkins Glen, NY - September 1998


Tank and Curly Joe - home - March 2009


Tank - home - July 2008


Maria, Tank, me and Geronimo - Fingerlakes National Forest (aka "where we camped every weekend") - upstate NY - September 1998


Tank, me, Luke, Lady - Chicago - July 1999


Tank loves his Goodie Ship. He's had it for 13 years. Home - December 2007


Tankerbell. Oxbow Lake - U.P. - October 1999


Home - September 2009


Home - November 2008


Home - August 2009


Tank, welcoming his BFF (Luke) home after major surgery - Home - April 2005


Sauvie Island - Portland, Oregon - June 2008


Me, Cat, Maria, Geronimo and Tank - Finger Lakes National Forest - upstate NY - September 1998


Meathead, Bernie, me and Tank - Chicago, Illinois - January 1999


Me and Tank - the gorge - Watkins Glen, New York - September 1998


Home - December 2008


Me and Tank - Manchester, Vermont - October 1998


Me and the old man, getting some sun - Mom's - August 2011


Old habits die hard; I like to nap on my dog - home - May 2011


Helping me test my "new" camera - home - March 2009


Luke and Tank. No homo. - home - April 2007


Tank: best foster brother EVER. He was so good with the dogs we rescued from the pound. Here he is with Ren - Watkins Glen, NY - August 1998


My beautiful boy - home - March 2009


Frolic! - home - December 2008

A watered down manifestation of my own death instinct.

I'm on vacation until Monday. Not much going on, just "preparing" for the Warrior Dash on Sunday. By way of preparation I am doing a whole lot of nothing. I haven't been training. Haven't run in months. I'm not even eating very well. I'm completely unprepared and I don't care. I just want to run this thing, get my helmet, my medal and my beer, pat myself on the back and go home. Hopefully I'll be able to walk by the time I go back to work Monday night.

More to say, don't feel like saying it.