Boredom - The Buzzcocks

All I think about and talk about is the marathon. And finding the right curtains for the new house. I already scoured the internet to find the perfect labels for all the mason jars because now the little suckers are contained in a beautiful built-in, glass-fronted. So if you come one over, you'll see all the red lentils and hemp seeds and coconut flakes for yourself. It drove me crazy to have all the flours and legumes naked for the world. So off I went into the world of the internerd looking for some crafty person who had done a little more groundwork than I could manage. After that began the search for rugs. Rugs are expensive as hell. Rugs are waiting. But in a story of triumph, I did find a beautiful shower curtain. The thing has a subtle embroidered relief map on it of a fictional place. It has rivers and mountains and coordinates.  It cost $118. I don't have $118 for a shower curtain. Or I guess I could, but right now my money is going to co-pays every time I get my feet taken care of, which adds the hell up. Plus, I just can't do it. Anyhow, the thing was on sale for Thirty American Dollars. I felt like I won something. I think I felt a little bit high. My Virgo cusp is showing.

But let's rewind... I am boring people to tears with all this talk about the run. It's nice here because if people come to visit the bloggy, which I know at least three people do, then that's what they are looking for. I fear in real life I have become like a parent with a new child. Blah Blah Blah. Baby Baby Baby. I love a life miracle as much as the next guy, and I am thrilled to visit with my friends' babies, but what else, people? There has to be the rest of your life besides the baby. Remember when you were a writer?

Well me neither.
I apologize, new parents. I see how it is when a thing just takes over.
My bouncing baby 26.2 miles and some curtains.

I went back and read this whole thing yesterday to see if I had told you of all my fears about becoming a boring person. I told you about the FOMO. I told you about my rumination on jumpers, about some juicy failures and about my friends Pandora and Icarus. That's all well and good. But also, here is some hard truth:

-I genrally go to bed around 9 and get up around 5 am.
-I haven't been out to a club for a few months, at all.
-When I am invited somewhere, I look at the time first, to see if it's an afternoon shindig.
-I have fantasies about housewares.
-I have no gossip to report, now that you all know Lilo is heading to the slammer. I hope she's going to be OK. It seems to me that jail is a scary place to have to face yourself. Anyplace really if you've been running for a long time, but jail? That's a super harsh toke. 
-I got rid of the television.
-I love summer blockbusters. Real mainstream.
-I have no secret, or otherwise, crushes or intrigue. I just like Ginger.
-I also talk about my dog alot.

Do you see how this is playing out? 

But re-reading the text also showed me how far I have traveled since December. It's so great. I love it. I can't wait to be forty. My forties promise to be the most relaxed, honest, courageous, sexiest, joyful, decade yet. I really have none of the traditional dread American women are fed about 40. None. I think part of it is seeing that I will always be doing new things and striving and learning. And so this is how I must combat the boring person thing. Plus, I'm not boring to me, so I suppose if a person thinks I'm as boring as my ego fears they might, they can put their big girl pants on and decide not to talk to me. Good for them. Life is too short for boring.

I have this adorable friend who tells me that they are often bored but never boring. I told him I firmly believe that is an actual impossibility. Bored people are boring. Always. There's like a billion things to do and see at every given moment. I guess that's how come the practice of running so slowly for five hours doesn't strike me as boring. There's always something new to find. I like that.

On the feet front, this morning I am off to my rehab and adjustments which will occur twice a week until the 25th. Yesterday the foot doctor decided my left foot had not yet improved quite enough to put the marathon milage on it and in a surprise and not boring move, plunged the cortisone needle into the thing again. There you have it.

Sara Elise. 


  1. Sarafina,

    Somehow, you'll always be Italian to me. Not like a Boticelli or Mona what's her name. More like someone who reminds you of someone else who makes you feel very welcome in her world...and in her head. I don't know. Maybe something is getting lost in translation - or explanation. Anyway, Sarafina it is.
    But I digress...as usual. Since this is my virgin entry into your Blogosphere, I'm unaware of proper etiquette and passageways to the exit - or, especially to the entrance. But since I started here, guided by my own Beatrice (you know her by her 'secular' name - (Aunt) Enid, I must admit that I found my time running with you alternately invigorating, hysterical, informative and absolutely certain that you're slightly (okay, insert a more aggressive adjective here) insane and totally wonderful. Your stream of consciousness drips kept me running right along with you, with more than occasional stops to clutch my side...not because of a stitch, but because I couldn't perform the multi-task of running, laughing and holding back my pee.
    Anyway, good luck with the curtains; I'm sure the rug is gorgeous; that poor fish!; and I'm sure that when you reach the 26 mile banner, it may signify the end of your Marathon; but it will, more importantly, signify the beginning of your journey writerly success.
    That's it.
    Uncle Syl

  2. I heard an interview with Molly Ringwald on NPR recently (she has written a book), and I really liked what she said about turning 40. I paraphrase, but it was something like "Up until 40, life tends to happen to you - school, jobs, relationships, maybe family, but after 40, life is what you make happen and it can be anything." I am President of the Over-40 Club and I am digging it so far. You can run for VP if you want.

    When we were 20, had we gotten our asses off the ugly brown plaid couch on Trigo and attempted a marathon, it would probably not been as profound as it will be now. We didn't appreciate shit back then, but now every day without pain is one to celebrate.

    Give your feet a nice rub for me.