you in it for the money or in it for the love, mj??

Last night I went for a sunset run. I used to run pretty regularly, that regularity diminishing with the onset of winter. But my boyfriend is coming to visit in two days now and I tried to reinstate my running habits about a week ago. He told me this was fruitless and that I wasn't going to get in shape in a week, but even if I didn't show up at the airport Thursday looking like Eva Longoria, I still feel better when I'm running. I feel like a healthier person. I feel the temptation to go off on a tangential rave about running and how i totally get runner's high and how i usually come up with my best writing ideas while i'm on a good run, but i won't, cause you've heard it before and it's boring.

On a regular run through the neighborhood I go behind the school, alongside Zizkov Hill past the tunnel, down through the church square, across the tram tracks, over the footbridge, along the river, and through the tunnel. This is usually my terminus and then I turn around and head home. Last night I fell-not once- but twice! First on the footbridge. It was just a little stumble up the stairs but there were many witnesses. Then I fell in the creepy tunnel that has lots of dark corners where runner-stabbers may be hiding and smells like piss. On this little stumble my ankle buckled.

I've had trouble with my ankle since I tore two ligaments in a tenth grade basketball game. I'll take you back to that day because I have nothing better to do right now other than watch "Muppets from Space" and you're hooked now, right? This was one of the first games of my tenth grade career; it may have even been an exhibition game, I'm not certain. I think it was against Monaca. There was a little scramble for the ball where a few girls ended up on the floor, one of them myself. I stood up from this and then just sunk back to the ground. It didn't hurt at all. I just couldnt put any weight on my ankle. It was kind of like when Catherine O'Hara hurts her knee in "Best in Show." It was all wobbly and uncomfortable to watch. So the trainer came out and led me to the trainers room. Everyone thought it wasn't a big deal. "Come on Barnesy, toughen up," big Kim B said. When I got to the trainer's room, she removed my shoe and sock, grabbed my foot and shifted it upwards. At this point my foot actually pulled away from my ankle like a human Stretch Armstrong. It was weird, gross, and kind of awesome. This slayed many hopes for the season, where I was slated to become a much greater presence in the varsity rotation, and start and play the first half of JV. A cast was fitted and was to remain for eight weeks.

Now this is where it gets good. My first game back was against our rivals, Neshannock. Neshannock was "the rich school." If you had money and you lived in New Castle, your kids went to Neshannock. This is an over-generalization, but this is how district stereotypes went. Our stereotype, on the other hand, was the farrmers school. And we reveled in it, really. Drove tractors to school, let chickens loose in the school, and showed up to Neshannock games wearing overalls and Carhart jackets throwing Hostess cupcakes onto the floor after a win. It was a high stakes game. And I was back, starting for the JV. The game was really really close the whole time. And with eight seconds left, Neshannock was up by one point. We had the ball at their basket. Ashley Harlan passed it to Lauren Lombardo, who dribbled easily past their weak press, and passed me the ball standing just over half-court. With seconds remaining, I dribbled right past the three-point line and shot. The ball was in the air as the buzzer sounded...and....it went in! The game-winning point! That was truly one of the best moments of my life: not proudest or warmest. It just felt great. I have really rarely come close to the pure exhaltation of that moment or the giddy exhultaiton of playing basketball in general. I miss it a lot.

And I think I may have quit if I hadn't of torn my ligaments when I did. For the few years before I hurt myself, I had been getting really anxious before games: throwing up, breaking out in this red rash all over my chest and arms. When I got hurt I wasn't even upset really. But watching from the sidelines really made me appreciate how much I loved the game and made me want to play for myself despite the pressure of coaches or the always maniacal army of boosters parents. After I came back, I was much more relaxed and a much better player and sometimes I think I'll never have a talent again at something that was at once so natural and instinctual and also such hard work to maintain.

But back to yesterday's bum ankle, the only witness was a man passing the opposite direction who was dressed to the nines. I mean he had a suit, long overcoat, i may have glimpsed a pocket watch chain across his breast pocket, i'm not sure. But this man stopped because I was down in the pissy tunnel. I don't know what he said because I don't speak Czech and I was listening to "Stone Cold Crazy" on my ipod at full volume. I just put up my hand like "hey! I"m ok!" and smiled. I got up and started to walk home and this plan went well for about four minutes and then I decided my ankle was ok and ran the rest of the way home

This turned out, surprisingly, to be a really bad decision. Good old shooting pain started up once I got home and started making dinner. But it felt better today and I think it will be healed by the time I embark on my European journey.

I'm going to go listen to the Space Jam soundtrack and reminisce.

Shame on You (But It's Ok)

I have a confession to make. I am a jerk. As I related in my last blog, I was robbed about a week ago. Things have improved since then. Our landlords moved us to a different apartment and my work gave me an advance on my paycheck so I could buy food. Before things were settled though I behaved pretty badly. I went through the days in a state of self-pity. Several days I almost started crying when I was hanging out with people because I felt so shitty about myself.


I've always believed (or thought I believed) that life would work itself out: that "you can't always get you want, but if you try sometimes you get what you need" that "we should look at the crows; life is more than food or clothes," etc. It's not that I don't work hard. I do. I've just always believed that life provides. But here I was faced with a financial hiccup and I was acting like someone had sentenced me to a life's imprisonment with Kathy Griffin. I've been criticized for this because sometimes people view this attitude as carelessness or unpreparedness and maybe sometimes it does manifest itself this way, but I've stood by it, because I believe it is the only way to face a life that will surely contain much greater struggles and challenges than being robbed of a month's paycheck. But looking at myself last week, I'm a little bit ashamed. If I can't even keep this attitude in the face of such a small problem, what will happen later in life? Will I become like Britney Spears or something? I told myself today that whoever stole that money probably needed it more than I do.





If you haven't read the "The Fall," it's a very short (approx. 100 pages) monologue by a guy in Amsterdam * (hell) relating the story of his "fall" (Adam and Eve-style.) He used to be a man who lived life to help other people. He was a defense laywer and made the summit of his ambition a moral one: rather than monetary or career-oriented. Then after a series of events that challenge his opinions of himself, he slowy spirals into this realization that everyone is constantly judging everybody and now he tells people his story to get them to judge themselves. It is a great book. There are some really interesting bits about religion, especially towards the end. But the quote that resonated most with me was this: " we have lost track of the light, the mornings, the holy innocence of those who forgive themselves."



This quote touches on something Camus followed through with in detail in the novel, which is that most people walk through life punishing themselves for what they have or haven't done. Camus ended by alluding that humanity was just a giant tribunal, that we're constantly up for judgement by a voyeuristic society, but I think he was really insinuating that the greatest and harshest judge is within ourselves and this internal judge rationalizes misfortune as our condign punishment and to respond to this punishment with bitterness towards people because nobody else can offer relief or sanction.



The people who cause the most damage to other people are those that secretly or not so secretly have a desire to hurt themselves. This happens in big ways and small ways. Who hasn't started a fight with a friend or sig. other because they wanted to feel bad about themselves? Who hasn't pushed someone away because they wanted the selfish pleasure of misery? Kundera talks about it in a more limited scope and labels it "litost-" an untranslatable Czech word, using the examples of a child purposely hitting the wrong notes in front of a harsh piano teacher or a man hitting his female lover who is a better swimmer than him because he "feared for her safety." They are self-punishment masquerading as the punishment of others. It's a terrible feeling and its one that is easy to adopt as habit.



I guess what I'm trying to say with this is that my overreaction to the robbery was really just a way for me punish myself for things I should have forgotten about a long time ago. Didn't somebody once say that self-pity is the greatest of evils? Either way, I'm embarassed for my behavior and I promise to "trust the bears" in the future.



In other news, I've been walking around lately playing "Brass in Pocket" over and over again on my ipod. I keep accidentally making eyes at strangers.


*Amsterdam actually is hell. I'll skip the details, but my trip there two years ago ended in my assurance that a nice Korean man in a Hawaiin shirt sharing my hostel room had a black briefcase full of torture tools he planned to use on me in my sleep.

life is hard

DECISION MADE!

Nothing makes you want to come on the first plane ride home more than GETTING YOUR APARTMENT BROKEN INTO...WHILE YOU ARE THERE.


Yeah, definitely coming home now.

So, Thursday night I went to my usual place where I keep money which is between two books on my bookshelf. None of it was there. There was about 95 euros and 6000 krowns, which is like 500 dollars. I hadn't gone to my "stash" since before we went on our six-day school ski trip which we returned from last Saturday. At first I thought I misplaced it and a thorough apartment-scouring took place. I was looking in the sleeves of shirts, in the fireplace, everywhere. The money was not there.

So, I get depressed. I just lost my wallet in October and even though there's no logical reason for the money to be missing other than theft, I still harbor the belief that it is probably my fault and I just did something really idiotic with it, like throw it away.

The next day, Jen went to meet Lori and Anna for happy hour and I stayed in bed depressed and broke. About ten minutes after she left, I heard a key turn in the door, the door slowly swing open, and the floor creaking as somebody stepped inside. Then, nothing. They didn't move. So, I got out of bed slowly and turned on the light (i live in the living room and off of the living room is the "foyer.") When I turned on the light, the door slammed and whoever it was started RELOCKING the door--which means they have a key to the apartment. I got to the door and tried to open it but it was locked from the outside, so I had to run back and get my keys off the kitchen table, and unlock the door. By the time i got outside, they were gone.

This leads me to believe that they came into the apartment while we were on the ski trip, because the only valuable thing in the apartment then was the money, because we had our computers and cameras with us. This also leads me to believe they are scoping the apartment, because they came right after Jen left and the apartment was dark and quiet. This ALSO leads me to belive that SOMEONE HAS A KEY TO OUR APARTMENT.

We called our managment company right after it happened and told them we were robbed, that someone has a key, and we would like our locks changed. They said they had to call the owner and call us back. When they called us back, they said the owner said we would have to pay to change the locks ourselves if we wanted them changed. We asked for the owner's number and when we called him, he purported to know nothing of the incident and when we tried to explain we were met with failure, because he's Italian and has poor English.

This is coming from the same real estate company that was informed our fridge was broken Jan 2 and finally acted on the problem THIS TUESDAY Jan 29 by telling us we had to go buy a fridge ourselves and they would refund us later.


I don't know what to do besides go in there Monday and tell them they either change the locks or we're moving out and demanding back February's rent. We haven't had a refridgerator for a month and won't for another month and now somebody has a key to our apartment and I have a total of $20 to live on until mid-February.

Sorry for the gripe-heavy blog, but honestly...


The good news is I'll be back in the states late February!