Well, Dear Reader, it’s time to share something with you. I have a secret. It’s not something I’m really proud of, but I’ve got to get it off my chest. It’s one of those things that you normally tell your closest friends. But even then, you’re not entirely sure of their reaction. I’ve kept this secret for a long time, but I can’t do it anymore.
You see, Dear Reader, I knew it was going to happen. I didn’t want to start because I knew what would happen. Even though all the other kids were doing it, I knew that if I started, I’d be hooked. I resisted for a long time, mainly because I know myself too well and the outcome was inevitable. Too many people were doing it and saying how much fun it was, why didn’t I try it, a little wouldn’t hurt. I tried to hold off. Honest, Dear Reader, I resisted for a long time. In one moment of weakness, however, I tried it. And I was hooked.
A friend had some lying around and he let me borrow it. I finished half of it the first night and for the past few months, it’s been almost a constant thing. I’ve done it enough so that it caused me to be late to work a few times, which is something I never do. I hate to be late…I abhor it. It used to make me physically ill to be late, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Part of the problem is that I have an addictive personality. It’s not as bad as some, but it’s worth than others. If I find something that gives me pleasure, I tend to go overboard with it…and sometimes these habits can get expensive. A nickel here, a dime there, two nickels, two dimes…you get the picture. Over time, these nickels and dimes add up. So far, though, I’ve been able to keep expenses to nothing. I’ve bummed from friends, borrowed from others, and so far, so good. At some point, though, I may have to cough up some cash to feed my habit. I dread that day, Dear Reader. Dread. It.
Man, this is harder than I thought it would be. I’ve known some of you a long time and I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me when I tell you what it is…but here goes.
I…sheesh…this is hard…ok…I’m ready...(deep breath)…
I am a Potterhead.
There, I said it. I, Dear Reader, am a Potterhead. I’ve been doing Potter for about 3 months or so and I’m hooked. I started out small, with just the first book, but then my Potter habit gradually grew to where I was doing Potter several times a week. A little Potter before work, a little at night to help me relax, then the next thing I know, I’m doing Potter until early in the morning. My eyes would be so bloodshot from doing Potter that I’d have to use drops so no one would notice.
Soon as I’d burned up the first Potter, I was on to the second. And let me tell you something, Dear Reader, those dried up old prunes at the library were no help at all getting me some more Potter. “I’m sorry, Sir, but someone else has all the Potter” was all they’d tell me. I’d ask for names or addresses so I could get some more Potter, but those cranky old crones would just shake their heads. They were bogarting the Potter, man! Sure…it’s easy for them. They can have Potter whenever they want…Hell, I bet they had Potter behind the counter and were just teasing me to see my reaction. You know what?!?! I bet those crazy bitc….uh…heh…um…sorry…paranoia is one of the side effects of too much Potter. It’s like the time I thought Trey hid my Potter for his own use. We've agreed never to speak of that again. Anyway.
Unfortunately, Dear Reader, my Potter habit got worse. I was reading Potter, which was bad enough, but then I got my hands on a stash of Potter movies. Hooo boy! I thought I’d hit the mother load of Potter. We’re not talking the garden-variety grow-your-own Potter. Oh no. We’re talking the two-disk, widescreen stuff, man. The kind of Potter that’d cost you big bucks on the street. The kind of Potter you call your friends about, but only your closest, bestest friends. The kind of Potter you score once or maybe twice in your lifetime, if you’re lucky. We’re talking the Acapulco Gold of Potter, man!! Um…sorry…got carried away again. That whole weekend is a blur and right now, I’d rather not get into it. All I’ll tell you is when I woke up Monday, the house was littered with empty bags of Doritos, a 24-pack of Coke with 3 left, assorted flavors of Slim Jims, 4 boxes of Ding Dongs, and the dogs wouldn’t come near me for a whole week. It was ugly. But I didn’t stop.
I knew I’d hit bottom when I woke up one night in Scotland, in my host’s home, with drool on my pillow and Potter in my hand. I don’t remember going to sleep that night, I don’t remember grabbing the Potter, and I got scared, man. I got really scared.
I thought, "What would happen if I got caught doing Potter in a foreign country"? I mean, sure, you could buy Potter in Scotland, but I kept thinking about what might happen if I got caught with the Potter that I’d brought into the country. All I could think of was that Turkish prison movie where the guy gets thrown into a hellhole for what, in America, is considered a minor offense. What would my parents think if I got busted for Potter in Scotland? Right then, Dear Reader, I was scared straight.
Now, before you go calling me a sellout and a pansy, let me explain. I still do Potter and I’ll do it for a while yet. But I’ve cut waaaaay back. I don’t do nearly as much Potter as I did in the past. It’s just not worth it, you know. I quit doing Potter in the morning so I’m no longer late for work and I’ve started lighting aromatherapy candles to relax in the evening. I only do Potter on the weekends now…or for special occasions. I just can't be a Potterhead forever.
The trip to Scotland was amazing, awesome, incredible, and countless other words. I spent 10 days with some of the nicest people I'd ever met and at the end I felt like I'd gained an extended family.
One of things that amazed me the most was how all of us were able to get along so well and to get so much accomplished. The folks in Scotland were able to absorb all 12 of us into their homes and lives with little complaint and lots of friendship. The other amazing thing was that I could move there tomorrow and not think twice about it.
I'll share more of the trip with you later on. It seems I'm more jet-lagged than I thought and need to take a wee nap. In case you're wondering, the word wee means small or little in Scotland. I learned that word pretty quickly, along with squint and wonky. I also learned that arse and fanny have completely different meanings than they do in the States. Thanks for straightening me out on that one, Wendy. Next time, though, do you think we can do it in advance?
Be sure to check out the photos I took while there. Some of them came out really well, although it's hard to take a bad photo of beautiful scenery.
Oh...one more thing. For my Scottish friends who read this, I wanted you to know that the weather yesterday and today is rainy and cold. Guess we had to come home to experience Scottish weather.
There's some changes coming down the road so be sure to pay attention. Trust me, you'd need to be blind to miss this.
Our esteemed leader Pixy has written his own blog software called...well...I'm not sure that's public yet, but you can check it out here.
The dogs liked it and wanted to convert, so we're almost there. It'll probably take me a few weeks to get it set up...Normally, it wouldn't take that long...but...drum roll please...next Saturday I'll be in SCOTLAND. WAHOO!
Yup...I'm heading to the land of the Scots on the 12th and I'll be there through the 22nd. Not only that, but I'll have 4 hours in Paris both ways. Not sure what I can see in 4 hours, but I'll give it a try.
I'm pretty excited about it and plan on taking lots and lots of pictures, which I'll share with you on my new flickr site. Just set that up the other day so be sure to check it. If I can, I'll upload whilst I'm there, if not, you'll have to wait. I've got a bunch of other stuff I'll be uploading, but I've got to find it first. My pictures are scattered so I've got to get them collected, then I can post.
Anyway...some new and exciting things on the horizon.
I want to walk away, but I can't.
There are so many feelings.
You are engraved upon my soul.
I get mad about little things.
My problems are miniscule compared to yours.
I am ashamed.
I'm with you for brief instances of time.
It is never enough.
I miss you.
You have been my rock.
A place to bare my soul without fear.
I am grateful.
I see you everywhere.
But not with my eyes.
You are in my heart.
I rode about 53 miles this weekend, 32 on Saturday and 21 on Sunday. The Saturday ride sucked, for lack of a better term. There never seemed to be any warm up...we hit the road and next thing I know, we're doing about 17mph, which is a really fast start for me. It was catch up and hang on from that point forward.
The interesting thing is at one point I noticed that my heart rate hit 185. This is a new record, but I'm not really sure what it means. According to my heart rate monitor, that number is 103% of my max HR. In case you're interested, I use a Polar CS300 so my max HR is based on the formula used by their software.
When I started going to the gym about 2 years ago, 174 was about as high as I could go comfortably, and that was for a very short duration. And by comfortably, I mean not throwing up or falling over dead. I have noticed, however, that I'm able to hit higher numbers without dying. My previous high was 182. If I hit 174 on a ride, it doesn't feel like my heart is going to leap out of my chest and I know I have a few more beats in me if I need it. I'll be honest, Dear Reader, when I looked down and saw 185, I got a bit worried. I've never, ever had a number that high...but I'm still here. :-)
So...Can I assume that hitting 185 and not dying means that my heart is getting stronger and/or more efficient?