Two of these stories actually happened; one happened only in my head.
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Up front: I keep this household under control. None of that status-quo-society’s-expectations-of-who-we-should-be crap. I don’t “have to” do the dishes. I can come home late from working hard at my job. I can marry a Republican and not completely lose every ounce of sanity I possess. I can stop our run early because the ice cream man passed by.
It’s Saturday, which means it’s against the rules to get up before 11 but we made an ambitious exception to set the alarm for 8:00. We’re kind of like runners now, “realistically dedicated” to taking it to the road when we can, which means we run about 2-3 times per week. (ie. 200-300% more than we used to run. Can’t fight the numbers.)
8:03 am: (barely-alive Lindsey) Are we doing this?
(sleepy Colin) I don’t know. You pick.
(straight-to-the-point Lindsey) You pick, and don’t talk to me.
(seriously-not-at-all-using-his-brain Colin insistent on making me the most angry person in the entire world by nudging and poking me) I want you to pick.
(absolutely-furious Lindsey) DON’T TALK TO ME.
11:25 am: We get out of bed.
So we might have missed our morning run, but we made up for it tonight because we are that dedicated. So we’re running. And I’m sweating. And I’m kicking butt. Then half way through the second song on my iPod… just a faint melody. It’s so familiar. Warming, welcoming, nostalgic. Suddenly I’m back in the 5th grade craving a Choco Taco. It’s the ice cream truck I can hear, and it’s quickly approaching.
Inner thoughts: Keep running, lose calories, want to die OR $3 for an ice cream and 100% more happiness. #icecreamforthewin
I watched a man throw up three times last night at the dinner table. I don’t even really understand.
Colin’s work has a client who sent his boss an email. The email was so inspirational that boss guy wanted to help out client-related somebody for something. And that’s how we wound up at the 11th annual Fight Night — a black tie, tickets only, white collar boxing event for CanTeen (an NZ charity supporting young people living with cancer). Such an incredible charity event. I watched a debuting-pro box to raise thousands of dollars for kids living with cancer. His CanTeen kid, who lost his leg to cancer in April, called him his brother.
We were at Jared’s table. Jared is an ex-rugby player from Sydney who has recently taken up boxing for fitness and the good cause. Jared’s dad used to be married to the woman with the fake blonde hair across the table but they split ages ago because she is a liar. Everyone’s remarried now, friends, and here tonight to support Jared. The young chap is Jared’s dad’s grandson who doesn’t say much. We don’t know Jared. I learned all this from the family friend sitting next to me.