16 hours till the 20th anniversary of my 22nd...

And I'm sitting here transfixed by a desire to sob like a baby. I really thought I was getting better. I was going to pull out of the total and complete funk I have been in since December. Yes, I am running a marathon but the end is in sight.

Sigh. Not so much. First, to be clear. I love my birthday. I know it isn't in vogue at my age to like it so much, but I do. If nothing else, I'm impressed I haven't killed myself in a car accident before now (anyone who has ridden in a car with me can attest to the problems a limited attention span can cause to one's capabilities as a driver.)

So, generally speaking, I am happy weeks before my birthday as I anticipate the fun of being delightfully happy all day long. Presents are lovely, yes. But it is nice to have people be nice all day just cause it's my day.

Inadvertent though it may have been, something about being told to compare myself to my younger version makes me want to weep. I loved younger me. I was confident. I still though I could choose my own destiny etc etc.

I look at myself now and NOTHING has gone the way I thought it would. I am in no way living the life I envisioned for myself. I think I've mostly learned to be happy with who and what I am, but it doesn't mean that I might not have wished things had gone differently.

And, of course, then I get to think about where I am today, literally specifically today.

Living with my parents is exhausting. They are lovely, and I totally appreciate the fact they let me move in with them as I work through this stupid house purchase, but it doesn't mean I have enjoyed living through months of being in a 10x10 room with most of my stuff in storage and unable to find ANYTHING I'm looking to find. I am trying to be respectful of Dad's desire to be the only one to answer the phone and to not be on my phone in the house and to come in a respectful time when I have been out and to do all the other crap you do when living in someone else's house. I'm sure I'm failing at all sorts of stuff and annoying the hell out of them too. But every minute makes me tired. I've gone to bed at 8pm so many times, I think my parents are slightly freaked out.

I am exercising. That is great. But it is an obsession because I can't control anything else in my life. Quite honestly, I hurt most days when I finish and I always dread starting. The kids make me feel guilty for leaving them to go run, and then I'm tired and disgusting but still at work for another hour or two trying to get pages done.

And this is the year that I can't seem to motivate the kids, get them to meet deadlines, etc etc and I have a weird mother trying to get my job (ha, she can have it) and next year I'm responsible for the regular yearbook AND the district 100th anniversary book. I'm certain THAT'S going to go well.

I am buying my 4th home. Great. But I am paying more than I wanted to pay. I'm going to have less money once I buy than I planned on having. And I am without a doubt moving into the most disgusting place I've ever bought. Possibly seen. Seriously dirty and the more I think about it the more I think how much I need to do to be able to fix up the home...with money I don't have.

Oh, and relationships.....hahahahahahaha. To have met a guy that I think is really amazing and fantastic and to now be uncertain about if it will ever work itself out or if I have just been wrong about him and us makes me just a little bit nuts. But on top of everything else? It just all makes me want to weep. Right here. Right now. Non stop. And I can feel the acid in my stomach burning holes through the lining. Super.

Run like your ass is on fire.

I started running a few years ago. My BFF was a runner. She didn't run to lose weight, she ran to stay in shape. I admired that. I wanted that. So I started running. And I was pretty good at it, and I enjoyed it.

I can't even remember what happened, but I stopped running at some point and started gaining weight and gaining weight and gaining weight. I knew I was going to end up like the incredibly fat teacher at my school riding around on her scooter because her knees were incapable of holding her fat ass up. So, I did something about it.

Lost weight. In March of 2011, I started running again. It was good. Then this fall school was falling apart because the girls were determined to make me crazy (at least that is what I assume), and I had no control over anything in any part of my life.

The running, that I had control over. I determined how long I ran and how fast. I finish a run, and I feel good when I'm done. As a fun side effect, the running enabled me to eat food without living in fear that it would fly out of my body at high speeds when I wasn't prepared. I could almost be a normal person with the food eating.

And now? School is still a mess, my heart is totally broken, and running makes me feel better. I've been adding to my inspirational wall and the above picture is what I stare at while I run.