In the order that the thoughts occurred to me, which is to say, no particular order at all, let me share with you some of the contents of my head during this morning's run.
1. I can't believe I gave up extra sleep time for this! (Either I'm coming down with something or hell has frozen over because I looked at my bed this morning after coming back from kid #3's bus stop and actually chose to go for a run instead of crawling back under the covers.)
2. Huh. I'm not sure these lyrics are the best thing to be hearing mid-run. (The iPod was on shuffle so I'm not sure of the song but the lyrics were something along the lines of "I want to be running when the sand runs out." Yeah, not feeling so metaphorical at that particular moment.)
3. Holy cow buddy! Please don't ever drag your trash to the curb shirtless again. Unless you are in phenomenal shape and a hottie to boot, save even the partial nudity for the privacy of your own house. (And shortly following that, directed to the same guy came another thought.) Just because the jeans are your skinny jeans, does not make them, in fact, *actual* skinny jeans. I have jeans that fit 20 years and 30 pounds ago too but I keep them as a goal, not a current fashion statement. And as far as that goes, skinny jeans on men is not a pretty fashion anyway so best to just avoid the whole look. (Yes, it took me a while to run past this guy's house. I think it was the running equivalent of slowing down in the car to rubberneck. Unfortunately it probably reinforced the guy's image of himself as able to pull off the too small jeans hiding under the tubby gut--and yes I am well aware of the pot calling the kettle black circumstances of that observation but at least my tubby gut was covered and trying to exercise.)
4. What does that guy have in his hand? A golf club? Shit! Maybe I shouldn't run past him. (It's a little disconcerting to be faced with passing a walking man carrying a golf club when you are clearly a chubby, slow, out of shape woman. On the plus side, he was a painfully slow walker if I was sailing past him like I had wings on feet because Apollo I'm not.)
5. Seriously, if you wanted to ban feathers in girls' hair, shouldn't that have been included in the dress code before the school year began and I spent money getting one put in R.'s hair? Not knowing that it would be the fashion is no excuse for you, as principal of a middle school, to declare after the fact that feathers are not okay. It's been a fashion making its way around the country for months now as you would know if you paid any attention whatsoever. (Fly fishermen the country over have been lamenting the rising cost of feathers for their flies as a result of the trend and even I, in my self-imposed news vaccuum--gearing up to avoid all election BS, dontcha know, know that and I'm not paid to deal with 6th-7th-8th graders all day every day. Seriously, how out of touch is the school administration?)
6. Only a few more small hills and then I'm home. Wonder if crawling up them still counts as running? (Self-explanatory, no?)
And the shower thought...
7. Mother effer! (Sweat washing into the paper cut like snicks all across my legs where I had a run in with ornamental grass planted too close to the sidewalk on my walk last night hurts like a son of a beeyotch. And furthermore, lotion after a shower is an even worse idea. Just sayin'. And you're welcome for keeping it close to PG rated since you know there was absolutely zero censoring in my actual thoughts. Hey, it's my own private shower after all. We also won't discuss the fantasy I had about creeping out late at night and taking a weed whacker to the whole damn mound of grass. A girl can dream though.)