I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill!

By "Blueberry Hill," I mean regular old dirt hills, not far from home...hills in Long Beach...who knew!?

And by "thrill," I mean actual thrills from riding my beloved mountain bike furiously up and down said hills. Well, slowly and somewhat painstakingly up them, then from swiftly to crap-in-my-pants-fast down them.

It's been a very long time since I've rode on a trail, and I've missed it dearly: riding on the pavement is no bueno...it's a little too boring for me.

Granted, it's not much as far as mountain biking goes.  It sorta feels like one of those multi-"roomed" hamster homes, connected by a tube: I can go up and down in a few places, but I'm frequently riding in circles and experiencing my "thrill" on the same drops.  Still, it's far and away more enjoyable than peddling on a paved bike path.

As with most bike outings, Gina joined me, but she took her time safely ushering her bike up the hills...until she reached the summit, and there was nowhere to do but down.  Unfortunately for Gina, she wasn't very well acquainted with downhill biking and the speeds that accompany it, and we're talking about solid, paved ground.  Doing so in the dirt and loose sand and closely flanked by stickery, scratchy bushes was a bit too much for her at first...annnnd...by "at first," I mean the first 10 minutes.  She hemmed and she hawed, and she grimaced and she squirmed, but she eventually made her way down without harm.

The first hill was the toughest.  Though only about 7-8 feet tall and not terribly steep, it was still much more sheer a drop than anything else she's approached before, and the path didn't simply continue on into the horizon like the bike paths of yore...and by "yore," I mean the past week or two we've been riding.  Instead, it allowed for about 15 feet of travel before heading long into the dry, uninviting California brush.

The first strategy was simple enough: she agreed to follow me down as I went before her and only needed to guide her bike along the same path I led mine; this happened several times with me going it alone while she remained perched atop the hill.

Then we moved onto strategy number two, which involved her backed up to get a "running" start (she was afraid if she wasn't going fast enough by the time she started her decent she would lose control of the bike).  She attempted this several times only to stop just before the drop, then stared at me with sad puppy-dog eyes.

In the end it took me bracing her from behind (so she didn't roll down another much steeper hill, backwards) and literally propelling her toward the perilous precipice.  And wouldn't you know it, she made it down in one piece, just like I had been telling her the entire time.

"That was the hard part.  The rest is easy compared to that," I said without having actually ridden it.

As we started down the much less steep, but considerably longer hill that led to the bottom, I quickly realized that I'm going quite a bit faster than I had anticipated.  I gently apply the brake to slow my decent when I hear Gina coming up quickly behind me — both her words and inflection indicating she's going too fast for comfort and gaining speed, despite braking.  Releasing my breaks (trying to get the hell out of the way) I let gravity pull me ahead of her, and promptly stop once I reach the bottom, just off to the side of where I know she's heading.  As I turn around, I see her panicked but obviously relieved face wincing as she hits the final bumps in her path, until she too comes to a hault.  With quickened breath she tells me, "I think this is an acquired taste...I'm definitely a water person."  I laughed, gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her how amazingly well she had done and then started on our way back home.

I'm proud of my brave wifey...she done good.

Alluring Alliteration

"Indigo's Indelible Idiosyncrasies"
Slim loping legs lead her long and lightly, leaping lively to lush lawn laid with sun leering brightly.
With gait, great and wide, she gracefully glides, giant galloping paws thus do gently collide with grass and gray gravel as she gustily travels.
Snout sniffs the sweet soaring scents, swirling around, sweeping swiftly several centimeters over the ground.
Quiting, she quickly quells her quivering quads; chomping cool cubes of ice, crazily crushing them to calm her vice, then comes crashing a comfortable, contented canine.
My marvelous mutt must make me more merry than most mightily mirthy men.

Me Time

Anyone who knows me knows I’m not really a people person.  Sure, I can interact with people in a fairly normal way, but if it’s with those I’m not familiar with (or comfortable with) it’s usually forced, slightly unnatural, and frequently uncomfortable.  Those of you I do feel more comfortable with get a more real me, but still a watered-down, more socially acceptable me.  And those of you I feel very comfortable with get the real, unfiltered and often extremely brash (as I was recently described) and annoying me.  Which leads to me why I’m writing this: I really enjoy “me time.”

By “me time” I mean time alone, even if not really alone, to do whatever the hell I want, preferably whenever the hell I want to.  I find that, even if I’m surrounded by people (especially people I don’t know), I can pretty easily tune them out and, if possible, will try to physically get away from them as soon as possible, so it becomes impossible for me to interact with them.  Because, when it comes down to it, sometimes it’s easier to get to happy when it’s just me, myself, and I.

When I’m with people I don’t know, I am very aware of how fake I feel, as if putting on an act to get through the usually forced (internally or externally) socialization, and for people I really couldn’t care less about, which seems like a lot of misplaced energy and effort on my part.  When I’m with others I’m more comfortable with, while more like myself, I’m still holding back and feel stifled, which also makes me uneasy and very aware of how I’m acting.  And, even when I’m with the few people this world I can really let loose and be myself around, I easily start to get on my own nerves, because I’m, again, very aware of how I’m acting, and not only aware of how others may be perceiving me, but how I’m actually seeing myself from their standpoint, and I don’t much like it.  So, it seems that no matter who I’m with, there’s a point at which I don’t care for how I’m acting, or feeling about how I’m acting, and it’s been like this too much of the time...which is why I prefer to just be on my own from time to time.

Yet, lately (actually, for quite some time now), “me time” has been an exceedingly difficult thing to come by, and I feel like it’s beginning to wear me down and get the better of me.  I like my friends (what few friends I keep), but all too often I don’t like how I am around them.  I love my family and, sometimes, there aren’t many things I enjoy more than spending time with them, but it comes back to me not liking how I am around them.  And there’s no one I love more than my wife and nothing I wouldn’t do for her, but I’ve noticed my fuse has been getting shorter and shorter when dealing with her and I occasionally find myself not wanting to do things for her as they seem to take away from the phony “me time” I’m trying to pull out of thin air wherever and whenever I can.  But I can’t ignore my wife, nor do I want to—this goes for my friends and family as well.

My patience for most everything is worn thin and I don’t like how I’m reacting to the world around me.  I don’t know if this can be fixed with the “me time” I’m missing or if this is a symptom of something else entirely.  Despite how it may look, I hate annoying people, let alone hurting those I care about, but sometimes I feel so damn fed up with everyone and everything that my frustration seems to erupt without me being able to contain it.  I really miss my me time, and am reminded of how much I truly do miss it on those rare occasions I get to enjoy it.  For everyone's sake, especially my ever-patient wife who has to deal with my crap the most, I hope that I can get more of it and pray it helps ease my aggravation.

I realise how completely selfish this all sounds, but for someone who’s never been keen on socializing to begin with and who has always had and relished time to myself, it’s been a very difficult and “painful” transition.  I’m not even sure how much sense I’ve made throughout this diatribe, but writing it out at 1:00 am, alone, with the wife asleep, has helped vent some of that unwanted anger.  Then again, it’s 1:00 am, and I’m tired, and I need to get up for work in the morning...not ideal “me time” here.

I’m not looking for pity or sympathy.  If anything, this is my crappy way of explaining to the people in my life why I’m as ornery as I am and that I’m sorry for it (especially my poor wife).  And who knows, maybe I’ve always been this hard to deal with regardless of how much “me time” I’ve had at my disposal; maybe I’m just a grumpy son-of-a-bitch (not a reference to my mother) who’s never completely happy with the way things are—I, for one, hope not.

(I can hear the faint sound of my wife calling me “Emo” already.)

"Screw You, Day!"

Good night, long day, who brought frustration,
so much so that I crave libation.
I go to sleep in hopes that I
can find the peace that you deny;
for morning brings the world anew
and rids my bones of all of you.
The sun will rise and birds will sing,
renewing hope for everything.
Farewell, dumb day, your end has come,
and at you I doth bite my thumb!