Music Monday: Legs

This weekend I wrote up a little something and each and every time I worked on it, this song got stuck in my head.


Happy Monday everyone!

Five on Five

I'm a bit late to the party, but again that's how I roll.

And for the record, I have no idea why that (that being "that's how I roll") has become my go-to phrase. Trust me, I'm annoying myself with it.

Anyway, this months link-up is Summer Reads! I have no tried and true method of picking books for a certain season other than by their covers. Yes, I'm the person that totally judges books by their covers and it ususally works out to my advantage.

So, I thought this time around I'd share the books that are on my list to read this summer:

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath: I wrote a bit of a post about this one the other day as it is the June selection for the Feminist Book Club. I still haven't started it. It's still sitting on the arm of the couch where I left it the other day, mocking me. Hopefully I'll have time this week to start reading it.

Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin: I have had this book sitting on my Kindle for the last year. I started the first chapter and then bailed fairly quickly. But friends keep raving about it so I'm going to give it another try this summer. Fun fact--for the longest time I thought the title of the book was Game of Thorns.

Riveted by Meljean Brook: I've been trying to make my way through this book for weeks. WEEKS I tell you. I've really enjoyed the last two books in this series but this one just isn't hooking me right out of the gate like the previous titles.

There is No God & He is Always With You: A Search for God in Odd Places by Brad Warner: I adore Brad Warner and his books. I'm really excited about his newest title.

Mastermind: How to Think Like Sherlock Holmes by Maria Konnikova: This is one of those books on my to-read list to help feed my addiction to all things Sherlock Holmes.

What are you reading this summer?

Benched

We are 8 days into June and I am still not running.

And I'm beyond frustrated.

I went out for a quick, easy mile run a little more than a week ago planning on easing back into a routine. The first few minutes were fine and then the familiar twinge in my hip started and progressed to a point that by the time I made it home I was in some pretty significant pain and walking as if I needed a hip replacement. Even now, there is still some discomfort and that feeling of just not quite being able to stretch things out enough is back.

So what's a girl to do?

Welp, according to the professions there shall be no running, indefinitely.

There is an annoying little muscle called the tensor fasciae latae which is being a total shit and not cooperating. Part of it is from overcompensating for so long from a previous injury. Part of it is from running. And most of it is from sitting for way too many hours at work at my desk.

Until it gets sorted out, my running career is on hold.

Instead, it has been suggested that I start focusing on other forms of exercise until I'm able to get back to running. Both my physical therapist and doctor have stressed the benefits of riding a bike and swimming. Two things I'm not so keen on. I take that back.....I enjoy the kind of swimming where I can flop around in the lake like a fish, not the laps kind of swimming.

But if I can't run and biking and swimming are my best options to get back to running I'm not going to complain about them too much. I suppose now is as good of time as any to start training for a triathlon. 

I am whatever you think I am, until you get to know me.

I've been slowly working out this rambling, long winded post in my notebook over the last few days. Little progress has been made, most of it doesn't make much sense but everything I write has been leading me back to the same thought: I am at a point in my life (age wise) where I shouldn't still be asking the question "Who am I?" Of course I've not come up with a single answer but that hasn't stopped me from trying.

And then today I saw a Facebook status which read: I am whatever you think I am, until you get to know me. And it hit me.......kind of. I still haven't worked it all out, but I'm getting there.

All this time, I've been trying to sort out who I am, who I think I am and who everyone else thinks I am. And trying to reconcile those three things, within the accepted "rules" that confine our daily movements and thoughts has been exhausting and then throw into that the unwritten rules of blogging and all any of this has done is give me a ridiculous headache. But of course whatever it is that people think of me, is because of what parts of myself I do (or do not) share. I've spent a lifetime putting up walls to protect myself, when really all they've done is keep people out. And it's a hard habit to break. 

I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live without those walls. To say whatever it is I'd like to say. To write what I want to write about. And to share whatever it is that I'd like to share. I realize it isn't something that would happen overnight and is going to be something that is going to take a lot of work. And will be all kinds of awkward. But needs to be done. Somehow. 

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Honest to Blog is a series where I let my pen glide across the paper without letting my inner editor know what is going on. Some posts might be controversial. Some might be a bit boring and some might be downright ridiculous. But they will all be open, honest and 100% me.

FBC: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

When I was still in high school, I took an American Literature class at the community college. The professor (who to this day, though he will never know it, was one of the most influential people in my life) had us keep a writing journal of sorts. We could mostly write whatever we wanted as long as it was relevant to the assignments that were given (i.e. our thoughts about what we'd read, answers to discussion questions, etc.) and he'd read what we wrote and give us our grades.

One of the assigned readings was a poem by Sylvia Plath. I sadly don't remember which of her poems we were supposed to read, but I do remember looking at it and thinking he had lost his ever living mind. It didn't make sense to me at all. I couldn't wrap my head around the imagery and I remember feeling like I was going to lose my mind if I kept reading it.

I also remember filling page after page in my journal about how much I hated it, how much more complicated the poem was than it really needed to be and that for me it fed into the generalized notion that poets were pretentious and held their intellectual prowess above the rest of us "regular folks" by whipping up their imaginations in a blender and dumping it onto a plate for the rest of us to sort out. I ended that journal entry by proudly proclaiming "Poems like this one are why most of us HATE poetry". His response was simply "Yet it is also the reason why some of us love poetry".

That was the only journal entry for that class where I received an A.

And I haven't read anything by Ms. Plath since.



This months selection for the Feminist Book Club is The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I picked up a copy of the book after work today while running errands with all the intentions in the world to read a chapter or two--I sadly have no idea if that is actually going to happen. Since that assignment in my American Lit class, I've had this nagging sensation that I'm not "intelligent" enough for some authors, and Plath is on that list. I'm hoping it's just my previous encounter with Plath's work, but I'm more than a little intimidated by this book. I am however going to give it my best shot and will report back with how well I did.

Are you joining up this month with the book club?

Do you have any authors that intimidate you?