blustocking | heyyyy, time travel....coooool

Ah, the internet. Connecting morons to morons, one moron at a time. I didn't even bother to look at her journal. (okay, now I have...but I couldn't make it past the user info page. *shudder*) I'm a-skeered. She's going to breed...and soon, you know it. And it pains you, deep in your tissues.

I'm feeling high n' mighty today. Go ahead, knock that chip off my shoulder, push me off my rickety soapbox pedestal. I dares ya. Actually, I just finished working out, so I'd probably say, "eh."

I bought a bike yesterday. A cheapie 10-speeed found at the flea market for $15. It's teal. It will be painted. But it serves my purpose, that being to step up the work out with something different. Today, I rode around the church parking lot(it's rather big) NUMEROUS times, as people speed down our road and I do not wish to be forcibly projected onto concrete and under tires. I guess some chick already died riding her bike on my street recently. Yar har. My Mother wants to buy me a helmet. But frankly, I don't want to be that special.

Interesting, riding around that parking lot. The church is two houses down and opposite. I grew up playing with the pastor's son and daughter, long since moved. I would shoot hoops there on quiet Spring days. I distinctly remember listening to Peter Gabriel's "Us" while doing so. That must have been junior high. Things are flooding now, I won't deny it. I'm trapped in some nostalgic wilderness and I don't think I'll find my way out soon. Seeing all of these places I grew up, the people who've loved me, been there for me since day one, is causing some sort of cranial flip-flop. I stopped at the far end of the lot for a few minutes, looked out over sunny field. Even the landscape has changed, the small dip, wannabe valley, filled in to make it more safe, more "pleasing"...I don't know. In high school, he used to pick me up there, in that parking lot...bring me back in the morning. "His Idiocy" first told me he loved me in that parking lot...if you don't count the post-coital utterance of "I love you, remember that." Which he promptly "forgot" come morning. And now here is the non-believer, the heathen, riding, coasting along the black rock, having returned, more wise for the journey.
Smiling, smiling and breathing and taking in the sun.
Trying to convince herself that there are no right decisions, only lessons to be learned.

I have too many things to do. Amazing.
I'm stressed. My shoulder kills with tiny blades.