All things considered, today was a good day. I accomplished somewhere around 75% of a very thorough to do list although if tasks to complete were weighted by importance my achievement may seem slightly less impressive. Most importantly (I guess?) I went for the longest run I have ever been on, clocking in at an embarrassing for most, groundbreaking for me, 5.5 miles. The distance itself isn’t as important as the fact that I did not originally intend to go that far. Actually, analyzing it that way when I am currently trying to keep to a running schedule makes it less impressive, especially in terms of my history of accomplishment. I tend to do better/try harder at things when it is unplanned and largely unexpected. Take my childhood room cleaning habits for example.
As a kid, I had the worst of times keeping my room organized. I wouldn’t say I had a TON of toys, but I had a good amount, and was a sensitive child so I would actually feel bad for toys that did not get played with when other toys did. This led to me dragging out a lot of toys per play session and integrating the worlds of cardboard bricks, beanie babies and Fisher Price People. Even if the People just sat on the cardboard brick sidelines while I played beanie baby basketball and documented the statistics of how many times each beanie baby thrown from my designated ‘throw line’ would make it into my Nerf hoop over several rounds, they were included in the days activities. To give it a positive spin, every day was an imaginative adventure in my room as a child, but in reality it was just a mess. A huge mess.
Anyways, dad had a running joke of leaving a giant cardboard box outside of my room when it got really bad and I had ignored an afternoons worth of directions to clean my room. This box was to collect all of the things I left on the floor and send away. Said boxes never got used, but their presence instilled a fear in young Greg that was paralleled only by IT the clown and I would tearfully run around my room nonsensically hiding toys anywhere they would fit—the radiator, desk drawers, in socks lying on the floor (dad’s not going to get rid of socks, right??). When the box method was deemed ineffective and I got a bit older, the suggestions to clean my room were upgraded to stern warnings and then demands to which I would reply with angst and storm off and bide my time until I was alone in the house. Once I was alone I literally turned into Rosie from the Jetsons, deep cleaning my room until it was catalog ready. In an ideal situation, I would position myself right where my parents had left me when they had previously departed, implying that I had been there the whole time and couldn’t have possibly had time to clean my room. In my best ‘disappointed in myself’ voice I would say…’Dad, you’re not going to like it, but I haven’t really gotten a chance to clean my room…you’d better come look.’ As I walked up the stairs, it took all my strength to hide my giddiness and keep up the sad Charlie Brown act. ‘Here goes…’, I’d say as I swung the door open and dad would exclaim with Oscar-worthy delight every time ‘Alright Greg! Looks great in here’! As I grew up, I mellowed out the showmanship, added a few notches of nonchalance but stuck to that routine in multiple contexts and still appreciated that wow moment and there are probably Livejournal entries to prove it!
I’m looking forward to bringing this up during the next phone convo with the padres.