Courtney Confessions

1.) I no longer measure time in minutes and seconds. Running has become so ingrained into my person, I catch myself measuring time by miles. If the pizza is going to be delivered in 30-45 minutes, in my mind, the pizza should arrive in the time it takes me to run about 3.5-4.5 miles. Consequently, when I see mile markers or exit signs, I think to myself, "My exit is in 3 miles or, if I was running, in about 24 minutes." If I'm sitting in a waiting room and see that ten minutes has elapsed, I can't help but think, "I could have run 1.25 miles by now." It's a sickness, I know.

2.) Remember that one time I accidentally bought and brought home a pair of colored skinny jeans? With the image of those poor, pathetic jeans doing their absolute best to contain the mass of my volleyball-players' thighs permanently burned into my mind, you'd think I would have learned my lesson.

Think again.

I bought a pair of chocolate brown jeggings the other day (again from Walmart, where the questionable trends are cheap ... and cheaply made) thinking, "Surely the darker color will be more forgiving on my body than flaming red!".

I was wrong.

Call me a glutton for punishment if you wish, but I like to consider myself an eternal optimist.

3.) With the laser-like focus of a warrior ninja, I've been trying my absolute hardest to be more relaxed and to stop sweating the small stuff. Between changing my work environment and making a conscious effort to fix my attention on what truly matters, I can feel my tolerance for life's everyday irritants increasing and my patience steadily growing stronger. But I'm tellin' ya, when I went to the grocery store on Sunday and discovered that generic cereal is now the exact same price as name brand cereal, I was certifiably pissed.

4.) My next door neighbor owns a tiny dog (who kind of looks like a mop) and lets said dog poop on their back patio every single day. Any time I visit my own patio to soak up some sun or enjoy a cold beer with my hubby, my breathing air is tainted with the smell of puppy feces and I find myself staring at their yard littered with turds. It's repulsive, to say the least. And when my neighbor finally decides that looking at her own dog's butt chocolate is gross enough, she will come outside with a broom and sweep the dozens of poopsies out into the large field behind our building. I so badly want to report her to our landlord, but since I'm always the one outside when she's "spring cleaning", it would be painfully obvious that I was the one who tattled. So I've seriously debated collecting Joey's waste in the appropriate disposable bags that are so readily available around our neighborhood, light them on fire and leaving them on her back porch as an early Halloween present.

Do you have anything to confess today?