all my troubles seemed so far away

yesterday i ran outside for the first time since before the snow started. i can't believe i forgot how invigorating it is to run outside. and also how much harder it is on my legs. but mostly the first thing. invigorating. i don't know why, but running outside is so much more conducive to "runner's high" than any kind of indoor running. upon my return home from an outside run, i almost always have about a two-minute debate with myself about whether or not to go back out for another couple of miles. and sometimes i do. this seldom happens when running indoors. sometimes i can convince myself to keep going when i'm on a treadmill or an indoor track, but i don't have that compelling sensation like i need to keep going. cause that's what it becomes. a need. this drive inside me that wants to keep going and going and going. again, this doesn't happen inside. maybe it's the air (it's probably the air). maybe it's the scenery. maybe it's a sense of accomplishment (or lack of boredom) that comes from trekking actual earth (albeit paved earth in most instances) rather than some moving belt that is attached to a machine that sits in front of a television that is more often than not playing some mind-numbing show or boring-as-fuck show. whatever the reason, though, i can tell you unequivocally that running outside is the shit.

yesterday also witnessed one of the most fun shopping trips i have had in quite some time. it was the perfect mixture of good company (very good company), time spent out (i.e. we still liked each other when i dropped her off at home), and numerous cute and fun (and summery) purchases. most everything purchased was either super amazing or super cheap (or both, in the case of my shopping buddy), but fun and exciting nonetheless. the only slightly regrettable thing (for me at least), was our decision to go to anthropologie. i'm actually still torn as to whether this was a really good decision or a really bad one, but at any rate here's what went down: i bought a dress. quite possibly the most amazing dress i have ever had on my body. it's strapless (with optional straps), buttons up the front, has pleats in all the right places, a slightly poufy skirt area, is of a coral/raspberry color, and, get ready for it.......... it has pockets!!!!!!!!!!!! perfect, right? well, except for the part i haven't mentioned yet. the part where the dress wasn't on sale and cost $148. ooooohweee. i'm still contemplating the possibility of returning it (to be honest i probably won't), although it is pretty goddamn awesome. to say the least.

be careful with that ink, son

i've been spending the last week or so wondering just what kind of person (i.e., high school student, college student, etc) owned my copy of barchester towers before me. what, you may ask, spurred this line of thought? highlighting. i don't know that i've ever seen highlighting done quite in the way that it is done in this book. well, actually, i'm fairly sure there were at least two previous owners, one who wrote in cursive with a dark blue pen, and one who used a blue highlighter. i am really only concerned with the latter, as the cursive-writer only contributed a brief character synopsis on one of the front pages and wrote "read 2/99" on the back of the front cover (as interesting as that may be, the blue highlighter was more prolific and intriguing).

on to blue-highlighter man (i don't have any proof of gender; i have just imagined this person as male for some reason). the first point of note is the obnoxiousness of aforementioned blue highlighter. it is in good shape, as evidenced by the constant leaking through to the opposite page. personally, i seldom use highlighters, and even more seldom do i use them on novels. especially not if they are blue and in good condition (the highlighter, that is). this is primarily for aesthetic reasons, but if i'm going to use a non-yellow highlighter, then it will be on an article that is not double-sided. also obnoxious is the laziness with which this person highlights. the blue stuff careens past the text and into the margins, and the longer passages that get highlighted display an impatience that mimics the drawings of most two-year-olds.

but i'm getting ahead of myself. the good stuff really lies in what he highlights. essentially, highlighter-man only highlights names of characters, and occasionally pertinent information about said characters, although this latter is done mostly in the beginning, when we are being introduced to the characters. not only does he highlight the names of characters when we are first introduced to them, but if in those passages the name of a character appears more than once (as is often the case), he highlights accordingly. highlighter-man apparently only focuses on introductions and important events (he even highlights the name of the chapter titled "love scene"), thus the bulk of highlighting only occurs during the first few chapters and the last few. so, this is where my confusion regarding highlighter-man's personage comes in. it seems to me that the type of highlighting being done is indicative of a rudimentary exposure to novel-reading and/or literary studies. which would then perhaps suggest that highlighter-man was in high school or maybe even in an intro lit class. but this begs the question: who reads, or for that matter who teaches, barchester towers (or any other 500-page victorian novel) in high school or intro lit classes?

so i am left to believe that highlighter-man was either an ambitious literary novice, or a not-so-keen lit major. or, that he was exposed to an ambitious teacher who clearly overestimated her students' ability to think critically about this novel (that is, if we can at some level equate highlighting practices with evidence of critical thinking). at the very least, i am hoping with all my heart that this person was not in graduate school, although this may not be entirely out of the question. i suddenly have the urge to flip through the books of one of my lesser-esteemed classmates (who, thank christ, i do not have class with this semester).

i hope the first time doesn't hurt

this is pathetic (am i pathetic?). i got the itch to blog (i have had it for some time now), but now that i am pressed with the task, i literally have nothing to say. do i want to express my true thoughts and feelings through the anonymity of the internet? or do i prefer to be superficial and/or funny? these are questions that are of utmost concern to me (really). funny i don't care for dickens since i do care for parentheses (a favorite of his as well). so what is important to me? i think that i am addicted to communication, and so maybe blogging seems like another way of fulfilling that need. maybe i also like encryption, and i can be as ambiguous as all get out (what the fuck does that even mean?) when typing things that are to be relayed over this vast expanse we call the interweb.  

or i can be straight with y'all (if there really is an audience; who is my intended audience? do i intend to have one?) straight like wine before reading results in a lack of reading. straight like i just spent something like $20 on wkuk, newsradio (season 1), and to the teeth  on itunes (i would put some sort of link here, but you can figure it out yourself. or at least more quickly than i can). i don't really want to go to sleep. i don't really want to read. i don't really want to do anything. well, maybe smoke a cigarette. 

speaking of that trash. i will be honest and say that i have, strangely enough, had a total of zero real ("real" as in physiological desire, not "oh people are smoking i probably should too") cigarette cravings since i started graduate school. funny because before i came here, after trying to quit more than twice (and succeeding for brief stints of time), i had resigned myself to being a smoker until i had finished my ph.d ('cause who in their right mind tries to quit in the middle of this shit, right?) but, somehow, my body just stopped wanting them. i don't know how to explain it. and i've tried (again, counter-intuitively) to pick it back up. yes, that's right. i wish i wanted to smoke. i wish i could give back these 10 lbs. i gained since i quit. i wish it made me feel good. i wish i didn't get headaches just thinking about cigarettes. i wish i could get that rush, that release, that feeling like jesus fucking mother of god this is exactly what i needed right now. 

okay, so i'll level. you're right, i don't miss a lot of it. i don't miss the coughing, the lung-hacking, the getting sick every other week but still needing that nicotine. but overall, i miss what it was to me. i miss being a smoker. even with all the social stigma. i miss having cigarettes in my purse or sharing those miniature moments of acknowledgment with people who smoke the same kind of cigarettes. and when a cigarette hits the spot, boy does it hit the spot. but without the craving, the cigarette means nothing. so, i guess what i really wish is to have the craving without the addiction. woe is me. (i do have other, bigger, more legitimate concerns in my life, i promise. this just happens to be something i ponder occasionally). 

i think i'm done.