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Random Story #1

Have you ever just had "one of those days"? If so, you'll appreciate this story.

There was this one time I took Lola to Conroy Pit. For those of you who don’t know what “the Pit” is, it’s a giant off leash dog park in the Greenbelt with a main trail and also a bunch of back trails where people like me (who don’t want to talk to strangers) walk their dogs. It’s a fantastic resource and has literally been my saving grace on more than one occasion. Terrible day at work? Walk it out at the Pit. Man troubles? Pop in those headphones and go. Catching up with friends (which is one of the most soul-nourishing activities ever)? Head to the Pit. It’s great.

But back to this one time in particular…It was late spring so warm enough to not need a jacket but wet enough for there to be a lot of mud and mosquitos. Usually I avoid the back trails in those conditions, but I was going through a particularly rough time (following a particularly rough break-up) and I just wanted to be alone with my dog in the woods. So I popped in my headphones and off I went, stomping along those muddy trails like they had offended me on a very personal and deep level.

Eventually I came to a giant sea of mud that was a solid 8-12 inches deep. I know this how, you ask? Well, instead of turning around like a sane person, I decided this sea of mud was my personal challenge that I needed to overcome and conquer – I just had to be creative and find ways around the mud using trees and fallen branches to step on. I was doing ok until about half-way through when I lost my balance, sprained my ankle and fell on all fours. The mud was very deep indeed. Now static and covered in mud, the mosquitos went all in, coming at me from every direction, their first meals in days (because no idiot was dumb enough to stay on those trails).

I started to cry. Lola looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face that I could only read as “get the fuck up woman”. I stood up like a baby giraffe, unable to apply much pressure to my right ankle. I turned around and started to hobble back the way I’d come as tears streamed down my face.

Then I had a thought...

This is an analogy for my life right now. I’m having a hard time and I might have fallen, but at some point I’ll come back down this trail and try again. And I’ll keep trying until that stupid sea of mud has been dried out by the sun and I can traverse it with ease. Things will get better, they just have to. I left the Pit that day not feeling completely defeated, but with a renewed sense of hope that I would figure out a way to make things better.

What actually happened is that things got a whole lot worse. I got sick, had to go to the hospital, had surgery, etc. And in hindsight, I probably fell and sobbed and hurt myself because I was overly tired and had mono and a gallstone the size of a golf ball (that is literally what the doctor said).

What’s the moral of the story? I don’t know. Maybe not every story has a moral and it’s just a fucking story.


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