Muybridge.

Somehow I seriously doubt that Eadweard J. Muybridge would want to use his zoopraxiscope on my pathetic form. And the only reason I know about this man is because I Wikipedia-ed "running" and decided to steal their picture, taken by a certain E. J. Muybridge. 

I know, you love me for my quirks. I actually didn't realize this guy was naked until I looked at the caption. Yes, right now I am that sexually numb.

So, today was the first day I started running. I know, baby steps. I figured, that one way to stop the fucking Niagara from seeping out of my eye sockets was to run off some of the pain. That, and it would be a pretty sharp rap to my ability to focus, because I'm pretty damned sure there will be one thing and one thing only that I will be able to think about every day while I'm running:

When do I get to stop?

On the bright side, maybe I will learn that if I can get through the hell that is running for a half an hour or so every day, that I can also get through the hell that is trying to keep my sloppy stitches closed on my broken heart. That's right. I is broken. 

-insert adorably cute cat-

How did it go this morning? Well, you've got to remember, it's mother fucking Michigan. And it's November. So, it's starting to get cold as balls. Not only that, but I woke up at 8AM to do this...usually I wake up 5 minutes before class at 10AM. And that two hours, hell does it make a world of a difference. Okay, so maybe my plan was to wake up at 8AM... :p I did wake up at 9AM and went for a run. What motivated me? I almost started crying again over my ex. When I woke up at 8AM I just groaned, rolled over and decided another hour of sleep wasn't a sin. Then at 9AM, I woke up again and just as I was about to decide to put off running again, tears pricked in my eyes and the hurt that has been swallowing me whole the past the weeks started to assault me again. So, being the whiny bitchy gremlin that my life is, it got me up and out of bed...for my ten minute run. That's right, I literally could only run for ten minutes before I thought I was going to puke. Dear God, I am so weak. O_o But, on the upside, I feel pretty okay. I mean, no I do not want to run, but yes, I did indeed run. Hopefully, I will be able to replace stressful, painful heart-clenching thoughts of my ex with the same feelings about running. Because, let's face it, one day I'm going to walk into his house, give him his shit back and feel like a thousand daggers just wrenched through my body and try not to act like I'm desperately trying to keep my disfigured, barely healed suture scars from blasting back open again. But, until that day, what's the point in thinking about someone who's only concern is getting his cock pleasured by a clingy ginger?? It's like when I start to feel alone or overwhelmed with this whole break up- I replace "fuck I can't do this" with "baby steps" and for whatever reason it keeps me going for another ten minutes before I have to say it again. Granted, every time a thought of my ex pops into my head I can't really start running, but hopefully running will at least keep my ritual morning cry session from being about him. I'm also in the process of creating ballin' playlists for each one of my traumatized emotional states, and since I always have my iPod on my person (unfortunately it's his old one...), music is really keeping me going some days. I still need to find a way to deal with the overwhelming under-confidence and stress that swallows me up around exam time and the horrible feeling of being lost that haunts me before bed and induces my insomnia, but those will come in time. In the mean while, I am totally open to suggestions.


Also, shopping for pepper spray today. I'm tired of waiting for the burglar/rapist/ax-murderer to bust through my window until 5AM every morning. I mean, it's not even a matter of will it happen, it's just a matter of when. And when that poor bastard breaks in, I'm going to destroy him. With my pepper-spray. And a butter knife. Because my mother won't let me keep a sharp knife. -.-