I ran it on the mean streets, oops, the gentrified streets of Brooklyn.
The race started on the sidewalk of the cosmetically altered Botox on concrete gone wrong Brooklyn Museum and ended on the newly reinstalled wood weather treated planks of the boardwalk in the now Russian enclave of Coney Island.
So…
It was raining.
Not the drizzly refreshing kinda rain but the giant pouring rain drops slapping your head and oozing down your face kinda rain. The drizzly refreshing came towards the end but as soon as I crossed that finish line the slapping drops returned! My glorious finish was photographed in the arms of Peter Ciaccia, president of NYRR running events and a big supporter of those who are referred to as the ‘back of the packers’. In other words, back of the packers are the ones who finish the race long after the after post-race party has ended and the disgruntled looks from volunteers who had been out in the elements since 4am want to go home to a hot shower but are stuck out there waiting for your ass to cross the line, so they can break it down and cart the shit back to storage and finally…go home.
So…
My first time running in the rain.
A brutal lesson in feeling downright accomplished at making it through the course then feeling soaking wet cold and miserable enough to forgo that Nathan’s hot dog and beer. All week leading up to running the half visions of hotdogs in buns slathered in sauerkraut and mustard danced in my head. Twirling round and round the hotdogs danced moving towards my mouth where slowly, they would be decimated, eaten and conquered.
So…
The vision of hot dogs was fleeting.
It was replaced by my yearning to get my soaking, wet butt home to stay under a hot shower until eternity or the hot water heater gave out.
So…
I ate pizza.
It wasn’t the same satisfaction of eating a dancing hot dog but it had to do. Two slices, plain, nothing fancy and it landed in my gut with a thud and stayed for two days.
So much for running in the rain…or Bling desperation.
sadness is pretty much clear, singled out with pity parties thrown but not in your honour
Sometimes feeling blue is ok
feeling blue its totally acceptable-look how many songs about being blue are out there
feeling sad is not
people run away as if you’ve contracted the plague -sadness, we all know is highly contagious
Sometimes feeling blue is ok
blue is an acceptable colour, blue skies, blue eyes, blueberries even playing the blues has colour
feeling sad is not
sad is gloomy and dark, no colour hues like blue just tears, frowns and being down
Sometimes feeling blue is ok
like when long standing relationships end because the glitter that kept them going has been thrown and scattered so many times there’s just nothing left
feeling sad is not
especially when you go around trying to pick up those specks of glitter and end up with dust bunnies attached
Sometimes feeling blue is ok
when it rains on your parade and then, behold, the sun comes through bringing fairies and yellow rays of sun
feeling sad is not
when you try to open an umbrella to starve off the rain on your parade and the wind turns the umbrella inside out and you’re too busy cursing and fighting with the wind and you accidentally knock a fairy upside the head along with the single yellow ray of sun that was guiding it
Sometimes feeling blue is ok
When you buy a hot dog to make you feel better cause the stress at work is bringing you down
Feeling sad is not
you forgot to order sauerkraut with that hotdog and once you take a bite, the bun is stale and you already walked too far from the vendor to run back and curse him out
-the ability to control one’s feelings and overcome one’s weaknesses; the ability to pursue what one thinks is right despittemptations to abandon it.
Yeah right.
Been trying to be ‘self-discipline’ for over 50 years and all I’m reaping with that discipline is sabotage of the self
Self-worth
-another term for self-esteem
Yeah right.
Taking a job that does not reward demanding work, excess hours spent completing projects and scrimps on overtime and still working there? Yep-that’s exactly why I make the yearly salary I do. Ups and downs of life living with depression can take a toll on self-worth leaving it defenseless against soul sucking predators who are everywhere, in every field.
But…
running with a group, racing for my own personal gain can seriously stimulate that old self-worth and lord help the mofo who tries to mess with my self-worth when it’s fueled by natural endorphins. Yep. You can mess with my salary but not my head.
Self-determination
-absorbed in one’s own thoughts, activities or interest
Yeah right.
I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts, activities and interest that an impenetrable wall somehow was built around my heart without any funding or government interference. The joke was truly on me without my knowledge or participation.
Self-Assured
–confident on one’s own abilities or character
Yeah right.
I was so self-assured on accepting a job that started me at 31k. Then realized how the scam management team operated and requested an increase to 37k. The work load increased and the only salary increases were to everyone else’s except mine.
Wowza.
Self-ish
-lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure
Yeah right.
Selfish is looking pretty good right now. Time to reel in the empathy and substitute it with apathy and concentrate on what matters most: me, myself and I.
Guess what?
Ain’t gonna happen.
The me, myself and I cares too deeply for the sentient beings who have no voice, are seen but not heard, are invisible until the rain falls and…
(So sorry,
this does not include the mosquitos.)
Those opportunist mini drones who thrive on the sucking and stealing blood from those who have not given consent or signed a waiver steer me towards…
Running, seriously keeps me in the moment, in the present, with thoughts dabbing tearfully at the past and plans my hand enjoys squashing like a giant bug swatter dealing with the future.
The act of running,
Is not running…
It’s training to run.
Training is…
Humiliating, teaching one to be humble during a race as gastrointestinal issues make an unexpected appearance before hitting a porta potty. Once there, one recuperates, cursing the lack of tp and continues afterwards with the…
Training that becomes…
Humbling, when a cocky self assured self decides to run a ½ marathon without the training and ends up puking on the side of the running path. Once there, one recuperates cursing at not having the time to train and continues afterwards with the…
Training that inspires…
Aspirations which turn into goals and thus become accomplishments. Once there, one recuperates, cursing at not recognizing what the hard work was for and duh, reveling in the feely, good thingys not only felt but held close to the heart.
Well, those are my thoughts on running or random acts of self-gloating.
“If you remove Al Sharpton’s blackness, he disappears. He’s transparent. There’s nothing there because he bases his whole life on his blackness. Me, I’m a black man; but my blackness has submission to my Christianity.”
― Ken Hutcherson
“You have to be transparent
so you no longer cast a shadow
but instead let the light pass through you.”
― Kamand Kojouri
Give me lies or give me transparency!!!
**First photo is mine, the rest, courtesy of the WWW
So many memorable political moments in the year as well as some notable human souls going into shadow that will leave a dent in our social fabric-most recently Erica Garner.
She passed on at the age of 27 from a heart attack or as Al Sharpton stated ” Many will say that Erica died of a heart attack, but that’s only partially true because her heart was already broken when she couldn’t get justice for her father”.
Erica Garner was a warrior who turned tragedy into a platform for social justice instead of wallowing in bitterness and should haves, could haves.
Yea.
2017 is almost out the door.
Habits and routines are difficult to break because, habits and routines are dependable, always there, nothing to question and no anxiety.
I wanna be superwoman
I wanna make a major change in the world
I wanna be like Erica Garner and stand for social injustice
I wanna be a rebel and give the middle finger to every passive aggressive white person I’ve had to deal with
I wanna win the Mega Millions jackpot and take care of the people who have remained in my life along with its idiosyncrasies.
I wanna buy a large piece of Russian River land in Cali and set up an animal/artist sanctuary with a friend who is dear to mi alma.
Does that promote social justice?
It would be a sanctuary for the outcasts of America, the eclectics, insane, irrationals, unpredictable dreamers, wanna be r’s and the right to live without you eatin’ me.
Animals and artists, so much in need of love, support and hope.
I get frustrated, you get frustrated, we get frustrated, they get frustrated, she gets frustrated, he gets frustrated…then what?
More Frustration
Frustration is:
-Waiting in forever lines,
-the express 15 item line at the supermarket and the person in front of you has fifty items shoved into their cart and the checkout clerk says nothing
-rushing to the Fed-X facility to pick up that package delivered unsuccessfully two hours ago to be told, “Hey, it’s still on the truck, come back near closing”
-the doctor’s appt so desperately needed, paid for by the insurance earned from the madness endured by working with others you’d never associate with outside of work
-working the job to get the insurance to see the doctor but cannot because the “pile of papers sitting on your desk needs to be addressed” to avoid the wrath of the anxious boss, who sits at their desk searching for dresses on eBay
-trying to stretch a dollar into usage for a week
-not having the money to pay bills after working 35 hours a week
This stops here…
Frustration is here, daily, interrupting the easy flow we’d like to have in our lives, from morning to night and especially during lunchtime. We have no control on how and where it comes from, only control on how to deal with it once it makes its presence known.
For the lucky ones, Frustration is felt, experienced and put in its place as it is a no brainer, easily dealt with and discarded. There are more important things in life worth your time and effort.
For the unlucky ones, like me, Frustration is an evil incarnate!!! Set forth from the gates of hell, Frustration throws your whole game plan into the gutter.
It stifles and cripples your ability to deal.
Defeated, you retreat into your inner sanctum, praying for Frustration to leave you alone and pick on somebody else!
But…
Frustration stays and festers until after downing glasses of wine, pizza and hotdogs you finally defeat it. It’s behind you, drama dealt with, done and done.
But…
You are left with the hangover, and the enlarged painfully bloated abdomen.
Tobias, Toba, Tub of lard, Mr. Tobes, Mr. T, Tobester, Tobadia, Mr Tobadia.
Toby, for me
YOU will always be…just Toby.
I want to write down the words that tell my feelings about
YOU.
But…
When I think of
USTED, I get all mamba jamba boogied up tight lip and my chest hurts, missing your bunny hopping days through Ppark.
The pain is so real and so there…as
TÚ is no longer here, and neither is Pi and I long to touch and smell
USTED as I do him.
Although, stink, Pi did, as did
YOU, and it did not matter because being all mine, all the time, unconditionally, lovingly far surpassed the dirty dog, musty stink after swimming at the doggy beach in Ppark brought into the house.
USTED passed into shadow on Monday evening, October 9, 2017, licking peanut butter from my finger as Propofol made its way through the vein that would eventually connect with other veins on a path to your heart-unstoppable as your personality and love was.
TÚ paused in the peanut butter licking, confused somewhat and before I could acknowledge what was taking place, the ER vet plunged Euthasol into that same vein, which stopped, and ended the pumping of your sweet heart that held mi alma intact and made me realize that yes,
YOU and your love were stoppable.
Pi took my heart…
TÚ my dear first fur baby, the oldest of the pack, took my soul (mi alma).
Beat on…run on…free at last from the arthritis, the crippling of the joints, the senioritis which left you at times confused looking for our house on return walks the sometimes incontinence, the sometimes-foggy vision, free at last, thank HIM almighty you are free.
Gracias me perrito que vivir en mi vida por catorce años.
Gracias for choosing me.
I want to say to
YOU all that wasn’t said while this earth was lucky to have your soul in its presence, it’s concrete jungle, pseudo Ppark in the woods landscape with me by your side. Gracias a
TÚ for finding and choosing me to spend time in your life. Pi was not part of
the package, pero
USTED accepted him or better yet, tolerated him on your own terms.
The residents at the now defunct Bishop Hulces nursing home would also join in this thanks to
YOU, the certified therapy dog who strutted through the dementia ward bringing the gift of words to those who would not normally speak.
USTED, my sweet baby boy would allow the locked words to flow in their gibberish, unstoppable, accepted and not challenged or corrected way.
I remember the young teenage girl who was placed in the nursing home due to her disability of severed legs sacrificed from her attempted suicide gone wrong pact with an MTA train. Mother and father were at her bedside during our visits and the tension and awkwardness were too real to ignore. They spoke no English and who knows what if they knew what to make of you grizzly Adams appearance.
YOU jumped on me, and unto her bed, snuggled up to a hip that no longer had an extension. She in turn was happy to pet your fur which brought forth a smile easing the tensions from the parents who now mirar a
USTED at what I perceived to be respect and admiration. The visits to her room always brought out the best in the soul that resided en
LOVE
TÚ and el alma that took my own away.
Bereavement is not so acceptable when it comes to fur babies because for many they are insignificant, easily discarded as the wrapper on a wad of gum. Going into shadow is as irrelevant as swatting a mosquito of an arm.
But guess what…
For me not having
YOU, the job of life can be done but trust me, it will be half assed done, for your unconditional no judgement love does not await me when I return home and I’m left with no defense to put the day’s sucking vampires behind me.
I go to work, forced to converse in conversations when I’d rather be home licking my wounds and thinking of you. Grieving for your lil bro was much easier-I was unemployed.
To pick up your ashes, I must return to the place your last breath was drawn and I will bring
YOU home.
Which is where you are now, my sweet Toby boy.
** TÚ, USTED = You. Mirar=look. Gracias a tú=thanks to you. en= in. pero=but. Gracias me perrito que vivir en mi vida por catorce años=Thank you my doggy who lived in my life for 14 years.
To be social and branch out of solely running Ppark (Prospect Park)
Graduate from the 5k’s with the tee shirt award to the 10k’s with the tee shirts AND medal awards
Guess what?
Achieved, done, concluded, fulfilled, ended, over and done with!!
Goals are the wish lists we formulate and attempt to complete… OR…fail while doing so.
Failure…
At times, staying in ‘Kansas’ may be the road block which caused the goal failure to begin with. Comfort-ability does have its snags… BUT… so does taking that initial step to ‘make it happen’ and tripping, falling flat on your face and ending up in a hospital bed, thinking , ‘How the hell did that happen?’
Well, as John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.
And so it does…life happens.
The running goals for 2017 were not going to happen if I continued to run alone in Ppark doing the same thing, the same way, everyday.
Change.
It had to come so I joined a running group, paid the joiner’s fee with money borrowed and not paid back. This major shift gave the best results as my running goals were met as well as having social running buddies. Aspirations and new goals are up a notch for 2018 (God willing because we know he can be tricksy sometimes).
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
Janis Joplin and her Mercedes Benz…
Of course, my pity me, pity bee self, let those lyrics set in my heart at a young age while I licked my “How many licks does it take to reach the center of a Tootsie Pop?”
Joplin was amazing.
A white chick who could wail like a black chick and gained kudos beyond the norm for being a white chick who could wail like a black chick. Meanwhile the black chicks who are the backup singers to the white musicians remain in the background, behind the lines of the white musicians who need their sound to cross barriers and bring in more buyers of their records.
Tina Turner was amazing as she wailed out in front while her backup singers remained in the back. The black chicks that is…
‘Nuf said.’
So…
Back to asking for that Mercedes Benz…
The ONE and ONLY, THE LEADER OF US ALL, the one otherwise known as JEHOVAH, YAHWEH, ADONAI, GOD, THE ALMIGHTY…this stops here (Current thunder and lightning storm taking place and it is not wise to anger the ONE who controls the weather). Well he’s not giving me a Benz, nor am I asking for it. What I want, what I really want, and yes, I’m telling you, is a grand piano.
Sigh…
I’ve been teased by three grands over the years.
The first was a Bechstein, when the company was in NY, before the rents went up. It was a lower end model, selling for $8k. I let it go or rather it let me go, for when I decided yes it was the one, someone else bought it then mom, my mom, became sick…very sick.
SOLD
The second was a Mason and Hamlin which sat in a church collecting dust in the corner. I begged, tried to borrow, could not steal- everyone. No loan, no piano. It was bought the next day and ended up on Craigslist a month later selling for $15k. Duh…
SOLD
The third piano, and yes this is it. No more searching, do, did, done. Nunca más. The heart (mi corazón) cannot allow false hope (esperanza) to take hold only to dissipate into steam, traveling upwards towards the sky (el cielo) , out of reach, out of sight, out of mind.
Sigh…
This time, it was a 5 foot 7 Steinway grand, placed on Craigslist and discovered while scouring the job market ads. The address on the ad was located five blocks up from where I live. Yes, my neighbor who moved here twenty years ago before the gentri came, when it was cool and hip to live here, when the rents were under $2k…enough…is currently selling their 5 foot 7 Steinway grand for an unheard of price.
Bubble gum wraps!!!! (Not the words I prefer to use but profanity is such a cliché reaction-whatever)
Sigh…
No funds reserved in a savings account, in a 401k fund, in a money market, in an overseas bank account, in a CD, in a mattress or under it, in a silver plated box buried in the backyard, or in a sugar daddy’s pocket. My salary will not cover the cost of the piano, as the salary itself is a joke because I work with others who make way more than me for doing way less.
Go figure.
Borrowing the money to pay for the piano is akin to hitting lotto’s biggest jackpot. So close but yet so far or rather I pretend the wasted money I used to purchase the lotto ticket will bring me riches as I do not know a soul who would lend me the Benjamins, period.
So…
Getting back to Janis with a twist:
Oh Lord, won’t you buy me, my neighbour’s Steinway?
My friends play Bosendorfer’s, I must make amends
Worked hard all my lifetime, switching careers back and forth
So Lord, won’t you buy me my neighbour’s Steinway?
Anélemc's Writing 
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