SELF DESTRUCTION AT ITS FINEST MOMENTS
While riding the subway last night leaving an awkward trivia that ended in not really answering questions but more of just having dollar off drinks and punching each other between tummy laughs, my roommate and I sat next to each other on the swaying G train heading home.
This month has been strange but it feels like its at a stand still of pure frustration. I wish i could blame the PMS for the constant feeling of punching something plush but I know that its not just ranging women hormones, it’s all lying beneath the surface of something about to snap.
I know how i get when I get frustrated. It ruined the most “normal” relationship I had. I get self destructive. Staying out too late, spending too much money, drinking too much, smoking too many cigarettes and being an all around bitch to the people i am around the most.
As we passed the Hoyt station I turned to my roommate Bert and said “I don’t know why i do this to myself. Its not that I’m unhappy. There is nothing going on in my life right now that is tragic, all the ducks are in play. I’m finishing up on my last few months as an assistant, my parents are happy and healthy, my brother is kicking ass. I just don’t know why i have this constant feeling of wanting to punch something cute.”
Bert turned and replied in the voice that i swear i could recognize in a crowded room, “yea i get like that sometimes. running sometimes helps me”
So i decided to get up and go running this morning for the first time in 3 months.
I started on union and ran down past smith st and past court… Jesus I’m out of breath already. Fuck I’ve been smoking way too much lately.
I stopped and spat out some phlegm and kept going.
Jesus my legs are cramping. What happened to cross country Mari? the girl that could out run anyone at the 6 mile mark? That was first place at the city district meet with 256 other girls running? Fuck shit has changed.
I hit Henry street and headed towards Atlantic ave
God I’m sweating. I hope we still have enough soap when i get home.
Through the Fulton mall. All the locals looked at my and one kid called me “long legged white chick”
Shit i need to buy more shampoo.
5th ave Park Slope
Wait, wasn’t i supposed to get a sample of the Phtyo shampoo that the rep said would be best for my hair cause its so damaged?
Flatbush.
Am i going up hill? fuck i need to stop smoking.
The most I ran the most i started to feel the basic pattern of my legs again. Started to remember how to breath properly while running distance. In through the nose out through the mouth. In through the nose out through the mouth. OK there we go.
All that angst i had been feeling for the past few days started to sweat out of my pores and the cluttered thoughts faded with each mile.
I didn’t get very far. Out of practice and cowboy killer kept me out of my peak condition.
By the time I had gotten back to smith street through Hoyt I burst into a sprint for the rest of the street to try and really push ALL of the negativity out of me. Suddenly, my running shoe (which doesn’t really tie) flew off and the next thing my foot landed with was a big pile of dog shit.
I looked down on my now vile, disgusting sock covered in a great Dane’s finest in complete disbelief.
See? I told you its not PMS. Its fucking anarchy.
