It's Not Even The Hair. Promise.

"At the risk of appearing predictable, the Bible was and remains the biggest influence on my thinking."  -Hillary Clinton

Thank you, Hill.  Thank you for setting yourself up in such a way so as to make someone who is in just the right mood take a time out and address this.  Just for a second.  Really.  Give me one baby second here, if I may. 

Once upon a time I started to like you, with the operative word being "started."  When you went all village on those of us who actually hailed from one, my heart softened towards you.  The vision you presented regarding the children of America touched upon both my sentimentality and ardency of camaraderie for a brief window of time.  Until logic won battle number zillion and two over emotion and kicked that shit to the curb.

While I don't disagree that individuals and groups outside the family have, for better or worse, a huge impact on a child's well-being, the way in which you advocated its implementation makes me want to puke almost as much as I did when I first heard you utter the word, "Bosnia."

Truthfully, I kinda forgot about that, the village, and you for a while.  Other things like crumpled gum wrappers on the ground and nothing garnered more of my attention.  However today I read your transformational statement about the Bible and was reminded of my exact disdain for you.

Do I think you'll lose sleep over 'lil 'ol me not Facebook friending you?  Nah.  Nor should you.  But what most certainly should keep you awake at night is your penchant for lying.  Why does controversy and drama follow certain people around like a shadow on a sunny day?  Because said nut jobs single-handedly create it.  Author it.  Manufacture it.  Feed off of it like little leeches.

Well Travelgate me on a Whitewater trip, Wally, you don't say!

Nothing sets me off more than hypocrisy.  I much prefer when people talk out of the middle of their mouths directly instead of out both sides.  Couple that with saying that Scripture is the biggest influence on your thinking while you lie without flinching, are pro-abortion, and the most appalling of them all - decide to leave 4 Americans in the Benghazi massacre without military support, and I strongly suggest you go back and reread those 66 books again.  And again.  And then some more.

But hey, what do I know?  I'm just a little girl from a village.

 

When Running Isn't An Option...

You know how certain clichés make you roll your eyes, but somehow secretly you love and appreciate them anyway?  I think it's something similar to how our Moms tell us things, usually ridiculously cliché with regard to an even more cliché life situation, and we instinctively roll our eyes right out of our heads at her.  Our Mother.  The one who in return, is smirking that infamous "I know you think you know everything but I am always right" look.

I love an appreciate those times more than I can express.  Usually when a moment strikes me whereby I can make a correlation which should be incredibly obvious but it's been oddly elusive, I bust out laughing like a hyena. 

Yeah.  That happened this morning.  At 5:15am.  On an elliptical machine crankin' at about 276 steps a minute as sweat was flying off of my head so profusely I started looking around for Mary Poppins to float down from the upstairs track to protect others nearby.

I was on the elliptical instead of pounding pavement outside like any normal Wednesday morning for a reason.  But you knew that.  Fine.  I may or may not have taken a little tumble last Friday night in 5" (super cute) wedges while quasi-chasing something of an even cuter 6'2" variety. 

No matter.  Details schmetails.  The end result is two-fold:  I could barely walk and some rap song about a limp ensued. 

And even after all that - the spill, the pain, the change in routine, the waiting for complete healing to get back on my feet...I'd fall again. 

Because for the first time in my life, I am actually not running.