Friday, February 16, 2007

Roadtrip

I am stressed out. It's not so much that I am so busy I don't have time to take a deep breath. It's more like no matter how many deep breaths I take I can't seem to feel good about things. Work is about the same as always as far as having a lot to do but not so much I can't handle it. More the problems lies in the tension I am feeling at growing differences in opinion between my advisor and me. The two issues are (1) my plans for this summer and (2) my plans after graduation. Ultimately it's my life and I have to do what's best for my family and me. That's easy to say when I'm not seated up in his office listening to all his ideas for my future. I always felt so lucky that my dad and my stepdad are so supportive of me and everything I choose to do. Maybe karma is finally catching up to me.

I'm still feeling hypersensitive about the state of my furry friends in the world. I worry about them probably too much and come close to tears thinking about all the other animals out there with no one caring for them and helping them out. No need to tell me, I can't do any more than I'm already doing or else I'll burn out. My next "crusade" as runnergirl affectionately calls it should be to simply heighten awareness so that others will step up either by opening their homes, their hearts or even their checkbooks.

The aforementioned stressors have this week led to insomnia, moodiness and a general lack of focus. I'm no doctor, but in my experience there is only one cure for all these symptoms: BASEBALL. Yes, even though I whined, moaned and was utterly beside myself by the dismal post season my boys had, Spring Training has pleasantly snuck up on me. Dean took all next week off of work to celebrate this, his holiday season of sorts. He made plans to take a roadtrip Monday to Winter Haven to see the Indians, then on Monday afternoon to continue driving East to Jupiter to see the Cardinals on Tuesday, and then Wednesday staying and watching the Marlins. I've decided to be totally irresponsible and go with him even though I know I shouldn't. I'm not sure why we're not gong to Ft. Myers instead, at this point I just want to hear the crack of a bat and I don't really care from who. And sorry Lefty. If I get a shot with Pujols I'm keeping him for myself.

8 comments:

greensunflower said...

Sorry about the mood. If I had an insta cure, I would get two doses, one for you and one for me. But alas I dont. Hopefully your road trip will do you good.

greensunflower said...

Sorry about the mood. If I had an insta cure, I would get two doses, one for you and one for me. But alas I dont. Hopefully your road trip will do you good.

minnesota blue said...

The crack of the bat! AAh! It has healing powers and will give you sense of what is really important as spring traing starts!! You will be able to solve the problems of the world!!!

Runner Girl FL said...

I was just noticing that preseason is almost here my self. I'm not surprised by this road trip at all. Mostly I'm jealous I cannot take time to do one too.

mom said...

ah good old february. it's averaging 5 below zero here with a 20 below windchill... but spring training is starting and no matter what the temp it means summer and baseball can't be too far behind! hang in there it will all look different from a ballpark.

e.b. said...

Oh baseball, especially pre-season, is so wondeful. It feels so Americana, warm fuzzies, especially when you are directly in the sun light getting some color. Enjoy!

lefty_grrrl said...

Yes! The crack of the bat, the snap of a ball hitting a mitt, the cute butts doing drills!

This is the cure for all that ails you. I've been itching for baseball season. Sports Illustrated has been nothing but NBA. Who effing cares about the NBA?

And I understand about Pujols. Feel free to get me his autograph, then. ;)

Scott said...

I'm the same way with the Cowboys. Every year ends the same way -- disappointing. By come draft day I'm all over it. I guess that's what it's all about, having fun, dreaming, and escaping reality for a couple hours a day.