Well-earned day off

Not to mention necessary.

My hamstrings are still screaming at me. Even after the pilates last night and trimming the ivy while bent over at the hips. I'm still running tomorrow, though: an 8 mile pace workout. Too bad it's supposed to be one of the hottest days yet.

Despite not running today, I woke up at 5 to write a feature that really should have been in Friday night. Then I wrote two other stories, filled the gas tank, replaced my broken answering machine and coffee grinder (yay for payday!), mowed the lawn, watered the garden, did some laundry and tidied a bit.

The really pathetic thing is I feel like I didn't accomplish anything today. I'm hard on myself in bizarre ways. I think it deserves further exploration, but I think it has something to do with my innate race against time--a side effect of having had cancer at 17.

Good thing I'm seeing my therapist Thursday. It's no coincidence Thursday is the day before my ex comes to town. Although knowing him as I do, he'll probably show up the day before or the day after. Why must I practice self-sabotage when I have people like him in my life? Or perhaps I surround myself with such sabateurs because it is familiar, and I sabotage myself to beat the sabateurs to the chase. I suspect that might be in the ballpark of my therapist's line of thinking. . . .

I still have loads of cleaning before tomorrow when a bunch of my colleagues arrive for a day of grant writing and swimming. I also have to squeeze in that run before it hits 90.

Better sign off and turn in soon.