when it rains

It's been nonstop around here. Running has taken a backseat to life - moving, illness, work. Scrawling daily schedules on oversized post-its so we know where to be, when to be there, who's throwing dinner together (or picking it up from which of our favorite take-out places). No exercise, eating terribly, limited sleep, Cub in a wrist brace, me in a knee brace. I think we've both put on at least five pounds. With apologies to Peter Cetera, If you see us walking by and the tears are in our eyes, look away, baby, look away ... We don't want you to see us this way.

Cub, who fell prey to vertigo, a pinched nerve, and carpal tunnel (like, all in a day), also had his sleep apnea checked out in the lab last night and will be undergoing an MRI this afternoon to make sure the cause of his incessant headaches and dizziness is not an acoustic neuroma (aka angle tumor). The doctor assured us that this was highly unlikely to be the cause of Cub's woes, then steered us onto the topic of blood doping for increased marathon success. I *think* he was kidding.

The first few weeks of school have been hectic. I feel more driven this year, for whatever reason, and have all kinds of motivation to implement some necessary changes w/in my own classroom. Unfortunately, this drive and its accompanying energy boosts have to be spread out among other, more necessary things - things on the homefront. Like moving.

Ironically, we've made more moving progress in the span of Cub's under-the-weather-ness than we have in all previous months. Maybe because we let go of the running for a spell. (Doctor's orders for him; knee's orders for me.) Maybe because the limbo is making us both a bit crazy. Both places are a horrific mess. But bit by bit we pack, move, dump, clean, scrape, pack, and move some more. We'll get there.

People mock my newfound addiction to FarmVille (and who can blame them, really?) but I'll tell you something ... after a long day of moving/appointments/work/what have you, it is nothing short of therapeutic to sit at your computer and look at your orderly rows of rhubarb, pumpkins, daffodils and wheat. Click to harvest and bring home the bacon. Click to plow. Click to re-seed. In a few hours (or, if you choose, a few days), a brand-new grid of colorful crops springs up and you can do it all over again. The trees flourish, the goats bleat contentedly, the money rolls in. You receive a brick, you build a stable. You send your neighbors a tree, they send you a cow. So civilized. You shut the computer down and go to sleep, knowing that in at least one corner of your life, all is predictable, and all is well.