Like the pleasure of fresh undies, this week has got to be better than last.

On the apartment front, the freaks were gone all weekend, both the assholes from upstairs and the crazy loon from downstairs (they’re best friends, so they probably went to a weekend-long sheep slaughtering event or similar…ok, maybe a wedding ).

You’d think this would have eased my mind, but all weekend I kept having imaginary conversations with them which sometimes went my way, other times it ended with the crazy lady pushing me downstairs.   And I feel really bad for the girl who lives in the other apartment upstairs, because every time I’d hear someone going up the stairs I’d assume it was the couple, so I’d vigorously give my front door the finger (I’m mature like that).   Poor girl didn’t deserve such negative vibes.

One thing I forgot to mention is that after I went upstairs the first time and talked to the girlfriend, (and got 3 great mornings of sleep for my trouble) I saw the boyfriend on the landing and even told him “I love you!” and he had laughed and smiled, so it’s twisted how things went so sour in an instant.

Seriously though, I’ve had a really tough couple of days.  Saturday evening Nick invited me over to spend a few hours with his family.  I needed the company desperately and he knew it.  Was good to see them all and eat pierogies and laugh and cry together.

Then yesterday I ran 22.2 miles with the last 11 “moderate” as per Hudson (7:53s), avg. for the run 8:16.  The actual running was great, I felt healthy and strong and got to chat for a few minutes with my friend Lara, who was riding her bike in the park.  But my mind was ugly for the whole of those 3+ hours.

I kept thinking of Nick’s ex-wife and my mother (because this suicide business is an all-inclusive club) and this apartment and wondering how I’m going to deal with it and also, constant deep questions about myself and if I’m more of a screwed-up person than I admit to.  I think I’m about as pragmatic as they come, but with my mother’s history behind me, I’ll always have this fear that I’m not who I think I am.  That my hermit ways are a dangerous thing, though even in my aloneness, I’m vastly more social and lack the paranoia and schizophrenic traits my mother had.

One of the things I remembered during the run were these awful little calendar books I found when we cleaned up her apartment where my mother had written in each day, “bad” “bad” “good” “bad”.  There were overwhelmingly more bad days than good.  I take heart in knowing I enjoy life and if I kept such records, it’d mostly be “good”s.

On a science mystery note, I solved the oddity of the outlets not charging my phone or other battery devices.  I’m such a dodo…the outlets I was using were switched outlets!  So when the light switch goes off, so does the power to the outlet.  Duh.

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