Sorting My Shit

The day my grandfather died, I ran ten miles.

No excuses. No telling myself that I wasn’t in shape enough for it, it was too hot out, I started too late in the day, or I had stuff to do.

Because I needed to seriously sort my shit out.

I just spent a horrible month and a half. I could spend a whole post listing the stuff I did and why I was unhappy, but it boils down to moving, my car breaking, and seeing my family in Michigan. It was a busy, stressful time, and it seemed like everything happened at once. I was tired and depressed.

Toward the end of my trip to Michigan I had a couple friends from college rescue me. We hung out at the old places we got to know each other, remembering the things that we did and we still saw our names all over the place. That part was good. I needed to see some good in that place so, so badly.

As the trip went on, I visited Middleton, Wisconsin. When I was looking for a job after graduating I had a choice. Middleton or Las Vegas. I chose Las Vegas. During this visit it was exactly like seeing what kind of life I could have been having if I had chosen differently. I would look at the fields and realize that I’d rather see that than desert. I started thinking about where I would have chosen to live if I had moved there five years ago. I compared myself to the genuinely nice Wisconsinites, and realized that either I had become mean or I’ve learned to be that way. I started to realize (always only just too late to stop myself) that I kept trying to one-up my friends when talking about something. Way too many times I started sentences “In Vegas….” I wasn’t saying Vegas was good. I was, I think, beginning to really come to the conclusion that I’m not going to last “in Vegas” a whole lot longer. I am doubting the decision I made.

Two days after I got back to hot, arid Vegas where the water is harder than anyone else’s and the people just give so many less fucks about what their fellow man, Gramps died.

It took me over 2 hours to do this run. It was so hard. I was tired. I haven’t been able to cry properly about it yet. In ten miles I mulled a lot of things over. Someone I know here “in Vegas” told me that I was dead inside. It wasn’t a serious comment, but I keep thinking that there’s something to it. As I ran in the heat, thinking about Gramps, that they used a picture I took the last time I saw him in his obituary, about the rest of my family, about living “in Vegas”. I kept wondering why, if I’m not happy here, do I stay? I’m not unhappy… Just not happy.

“You’re dead inside….”

Ten miles is a long time to mull that over.


~ by jesstracey on May 15, 2012.

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