mango pickle down river

This morning I woke, threw on my super fashionable mesh shorts that I bought at Target instead of a bathing suit, and slipped up into my Champion brand racer back sports bra (which is my new, most favorite thing to wear all the time and in all seriousness). I walked to my closet, slid open the doors, and stared into the frightening abyss of it all, not trying to make myself feel like a disgusting over-consumer, but to decide which pair of brightly colored Pumas I wanted to put on my two feet. I go with the indigo and white, very light and very worn in ones. They're dirty and misshapen and I love them. These shoes are a testament to the fact that I often do get up off my ass and do things (despite the fact that I purchased them online). These days my ass isn't such a bad thing to discuss, in my opinion at the very least. If you recall I declared this the summer of fitness and so I have a heartbreakingly long list of exercises and things I do to (get) keep myself in shape. I counter all of my stern efforts by drinking excessively, but I can be proud of the fact that I don't really each much of anything. So yeah, I dressed myself and did some obscene looking stretches in my driveway before starting my run. I hadn't even gotten up off the ground and the sweat was starting to bead at my temples and on the back of my neck being as it was incredibly humid out. I put in my headphones, start up Kala by M.I.A. which is the best to run to, and go go go go go go go. I love running to this album, not because it's good or anything but because its beat is something I can stick with. Half a mile and album in I was definitely dying but it was the good kind of death approaching, the warming light and all. The worst part about running to your destination is knowing that you have to turn around and run home. Home is no place I'm in any hurry to run back to, but I don't think I'm ready for the big white light. When I returned home my mother was drinking her bowl of coffee at the kitchen counter. Disregarding my profuse sweating, inability to speak, headphones still in ears, and the difficulty with which I maneuvered myself to the refrigerator, she asks what's wrong. I opened my mouth and stuck my head under the water dispenser of our fridge, and replenished myself. She said nothing.

That was my morning.