Peace in my heart.

I'm in my office at my internship, and Peli is sleeping on the floor on top of my soccer clothes. Hopefully, when I grow up, I can have a job that lets me bring my dog every day. All the times I get stressed out by clients and want to rip my hair out would be soothed by the presence of my adorable little dog. I brought her with me to Boys and Girls Club today for the soccer class, and she was our entertainment for the hour we were there, especially since no kids showed up. That's been the story all week with the Scera Park site, and it looks like we'll be cancelling the program. It's okay by me, because there aren't any kids showing up. What does bum me out is they aren't going to be able to fund the club for the site during the school year again, because they require 200 people to attend (which is at least a third of the school), and we got maybe 30. I'm about quality, not quantity, and there are so many kids in that 30 that will be devestated when there's no club. I do recognize, however, that with so many programs requiring funding, looking at numbers instead of stories is more pragmatic.

Tomorrow is our big race (well, my big race... it's not really a big thing for Bobby, but I'm excited!) and I'm a little worried about how I'm going to do. I'm not really competitive, but I have noticed that when I ride with Bobby, I feel bad about myself when he's ahead of me (which is absurd. He's been riding longer, and his thighs are the size of large tree trunks) and usually end up killing myself to try to keep up. It's not that I want to do better than him, it's that I don't want to be doing worse. Is that competitive? Maybe. I just hope I don't end up with some girls who have been doing this since birth and I end up finishing three hours after them. Then again, if it takes me three hours to complete ten miles on a mountain bike, perhaps I should consider feeling a little badly about myself.

During Peli's class this week, I finally gathered the courage to ask Stacie, her trainer, where she learned/got certified to be a dog trainer. My apprehension was that she might react with, "You? Want to be a dog trainer? Seriously?" but she got really excited and told me everything she had to do. I looked up the program she went through, and it's considerably cheaper (3.75 times cheaper, actually) than the program I was looking at. She told me about all the places that need trainers, and how she has a friend who would hire me right now if I was already in the program. I've decided that I definitely want to go graduate school (I'm also 99% sure I'm not going to change my mind again), but I want to go to KU, and it doesn't look like we'll be back in Kansas for another couple years. In the meantime, if I occupy myself with learning how to be a trainer and working with dogs, I may be more equipped to train therapy dogs, and since AAT is what I want to do with my life, it seems like a good use of time (and a means for not plucking out my eyeballs as a direct result of living in the bubble of Provo).

For those of you who were concerned (HA!), Chuck is recovering nicely. I'm not sure if I shared this, but I purchased a thermometer to see if Chuck was running a fever (if he was, a vet visit was necessary, but I didn't want to have to pay a ton of money if he didn't need to go), and was inspired to pay more for the nicer thermometer that only took ten seconds to do a reading. The others needed sixty seconds. Now, with cats, you can't put the thermometer under their tongues. It has to be a rectal reading. Can you imagine doing that to a cat with claws and holding it there for sixty seconds? It took a couple tries to get just ten seconds. He didn't have a fever, though, and with his quarantine from Kelso (his playmate), he's been able to get his sneezes down from about one every ten seconds to one every six hours. I'm relieved, because I wouldn't be able to handle losing another pet so soon, and Chuck is my buddy. Most of you know how I am about cats.

And for those of you who have read this far, I entered a short story contest. It's something I wrote a while ago, but I'm kind of proud of it. Enjoy!

It burned still. Glass after glass of water did not alleviate the pained, sore lining of my confused throat. A thorough examination in the mirror allowed for the assurance that none of the half digested bits of food had splashed into my hair, and a quick dab to the corners of my mouth removed the evidence of what had just occurred. A glossy sheen reflected the light off the dark, lifeless eyes that peered out of my head.

Pity, I thought. They were once my most admired feature.

Exiting the place of my porcelain salvation, I returned to thetable as the familiar friends and smiling faces were finishing their desserts. So much time had gone into that cobbler, an old family recipe, yet the only joy I could get from what I once freely indulged in came solely from the satisfaction that danced on the lips of those who had become my family. My dark, lifeless stones avoided glancing over at him, as what was once the source of my happiness suddenly became a fountain of inadequacy, a font from which I freely drank as of late. His smooth,calming voice seemed to echo above the others around the table, and his jokes were greeted quickly with a chorus of laughter. The lingering smells of a well cooked meal, a loyal wife, a beautiful, well-kept home, and surrounded by friends. His cup seemed full.

As the final guests took their coats and he showed them the door, I stood over the sink, planning the meal for the following day. Dinners became more meticulous in terms of their contents, as the act of relieving guilt following its consumption can become a trying task given the wrong ingredients. Intent, deliberate calculations were my focus as I absent-mindedly scrubbed the already clean platter, and my thoughts were brought to the present as he put a hand around my waist. Panic flushed over me as I tried to casually suck in my stomach, and my worry was almost louder than his gratitude for dinner. He walked out of the kitchen casually looking over his shoulder to tell me he needed to work on some things he brought home from the office.

Okay, I said through a forced smile. Don't work too hard.

The soft click of the door to the study closing matched the click of my jaw locking, and my eyes were fixed, burning a hole in the wall right above the sink. An eternity of no time passed, and the sound of blood pulsating through my defeated body blared through the empty tunnels to my brain.

Funny, I thought. Being hollow should mean there is nothing left to hurt.

The dishes cleared, the leftovers placed meticulously into a plastic container to take to work for his lunch the next day, I retreated to the space between the sheets. Exhaustion is a foreign term to those who have never attempted the chronic task of masking one's death of esteem.

Though every cell in my body craved it, sleep would not come. Instead, the frozen block inhabiting my torso chased off my sanctuary, so I laid there, lifeless in every sense.
What seemed like hours passed, until the bedroom door creaked softly. Lids clasped, my ears followed him from the doorway to the bed. He crawled into the blankets, and the safety that had originally enveloped me with their warmth soured, and instead was replaced with the space where guilt should have resided. In a matter of minutes, his breathing regulated, and the soft guttural sounds escaped his mouth, and again, I was alone.

The floor was cold against the soles of my feet. The glow of the sleeping computer lit the path into the deserted hallway, and the air was heavy with infidelity. The mouse sat there, teasing me with the betrayal it had helped perpetuate in the past. Its sudden movement under the palm of my hand woke up the darkened screen, and the selection of the web browser filled the pixilated square with a mocking display ofcolor. His briefcase leaned against the desk, its contents certainly residing safely inside as they had since he came home Friday evening. A few intended clicks of the mouse, and the recent history painted the left hand side of the brilliant piece of technology. My throat tightened at the recognition of the site names, and out of habit I clicked on each one. The screen was populated with the usual carnal, lustful figures, glittered with the broken pieces of my being.

Once the screen was black again, I looked down at my disheveled body in the dim light. With two fingers, I held the layer that rested across my midsection, pinching until I felt the bruising. Sobs of insufficiency threatened to escape, which were choked back with the determination to succeed.

Tomorrow, the cycle would continue.

Someday, I will be enough.