The Home Stretch.

I'm not a runner. I wish I was. I think the freedom of the open road underneath your feet would be exhilarating. I think the quietness except for the slap of your feet on the pavement would be refreshing. If only the numbness of my legs, the burn of my lungs, and that nasty dry mouth I get which makes me want to spit except that when I do I get a dribble of saliva that doesn't quite want to part with my mouth, making it necessary for me to stop and do my best to get it off first with multiple attempts at spitting again, then finally resorting to pulling it off of my face and then trying to shake it vigorously off of my hand, only to look up and see the woman who was having a nice quiet afternoon on her front porch wondering why she was so lucky to have just witnessed this all. Been there? No? Well. Anyway. I wish I were a runner. It's one of my goals for my life... be a runner. Right up there with Play the Piano. Oh and most recently added, I want to be able to do this at least once without falling off of the bar... though if you see in the fine print there at the bottom, not even the model for the picture was able to pull it off. So maybe I will put that one at the bottom of the list.

I think the problem is, aside from the problems listed above, that I don't like the Home Stretch. I know alot of people really like the last part of a marathon, race, game, whatever. But I don't. I don't get that thrill of "JUST A BIT FURTHER!" I get more like, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THERE'S STILL THAT MUCH MORE!?!" I don't Push It or Tough It Out. I get depressed. I give up. (Character Flaw! I wish I could sit here and type about how I finish everything I start and am always the most dependable one to get the job done... but I know I'm not. And I figure the first step to change something about yourself has to be the acceptance that it isn't so in the first place.) This is all kind of hitting me in the face right now. I have FOUR DAYS left before Paul gets home. FOUR DAYS. I started this with FOUR MONTHS. But right now? I'm not excited that it's ONLY FOUR DAYS. I am depressed and overwhelmed because I still have FOUR DAYS LEFT. Ack. I try to turn these thoughts right back around and send them back into nothing-land before they leave a lasting imprint, but it's hard. I have crazy moments where the kids are being perfectly normal and driving me nuts, and I just want to run out of the house and hide for the next week. I WANT to give up. I want to quit. But I can't.

I don't want to come off like I am whining or feeling like the World just has it against me, bla bla bla. That's not what this is (though I won't deny having whined on maybe one occassion prior to this... well, maybe more than one, whatever. I understand that I have been so incredibly blessed in my life that I have absolutely nothing to look back on with regret or pain, and I try my best to give back as much as I can. This is just facing the dents in myself, and trying to hash them out so I can fix them. I am glad that I have no choice but to finish. The things I have given up on in my life were much easier than this. Walking away was never hard (though looking back, I think I was just very good at convincing myself that 'it wasn't a big deal'). And now it's impossible (though even if it weren't, I wouldn't make it two steps out of the door before running back in and begging for forgiveness from my little ones, both of whom would just assume I was playing a really involved game of peek-a-boo).

Four Days. Just Four Days. I suppose I should take the time to look back on these past few months and see the growth that has happened within myself, within the kids. I should be thankful that Paul is coming home now, instead of 11 months from now. Everything is a choice. Do you let life happen the way it's going to happen, letting the tide drag you along the bottom? You are still going forward, yes, but you are hitting every rock and wall and hard place along the way. Or you do you decide to kick, the put one arm in, then other, again and again? You are going in the same direction, but this time you deciding to go, deciding to swim. The second option is alot harder. Much more effort on my part. But I would much rather float than get dragged.