not quite Holden Caulfield.

Finally, the last one.

Thank God.

I’d spent the rest of practice scheming to conserve myself -(mentally, at least), for the last repeat…really the only one that would matter.

Why are my teammates so damn stupid? Letting their bloated egos control every conscious decision. I obstinately refuse to let anybody coerce me to foolishly hammer every last damn repeat (which is quite a turnaround for someone who’s team nick-name used to be “Hammer McHammerstien” ha.) But, hey—live and learn, no?

Rather unfortunately, my mind unconsciously predicts the direction, purpose, and politically incorrect yet messily concealed motive operandi shared by the collective consciousness of a demographic of people.

Everyone is one big fraud. How do they live happily when they’re always putting on a show? 

Frustrated exhaustion interrupted my thoughts...

It dripped tingles down to my legs--rattling any blurred-misconception of vitality. A rather giggly verbalism shattered my train of thought. It came from a straw-haired, exuberant teammate with great big sapphire eyes. ‘She reminds me of an awkward-but-gorgeous albino deer’, I thought, watching her eagerly prance around in circles.

            She (like most people on this team) was infected with Sophomore Syndrome. *(Sophomore Syndrome is a term I made up for the mania infused into the once-freshmen class to train ridiculously hard during the summer so they can “dominate” the next year. This was stupid, however. The over exhilarated youngsters would end up coming back to school killing workouts --and then when it was time to race---they dropped like flies. (Either on account of nerves, injury, or overtraining.) )

Anyway, we just completed 5 of the 6 eight hundred meter repeats. This would be my umpteenth D1 college training program death-march (or ephinany--depending on the day/workout/mood/time of month.)

The new assistant girl’s coach was gonna run this last one with us. She seemed nice enough and would be forgiving in her judgment of me following that last pathetic excuse of a repeat. Whatever—I know what I’m doing.

            With a strange meek firmness, I toe the loose gravel-drawn line in a weak attempt to calm my overactive-pessimistic brain to stop tweaking about an already vulnerable reputation.

I need to hammer again. I need to satiate my ravenous desire to manifest my worth as a fighter—that stubbornness, that thirst to be fierce—to be something more then that weird but quiet smallish-girl, that beautiful disaster.

“Ready?” new coach said.

Umm, I was most certainly NOT ready…hell; I’m not even set.

GO.

Whoaaa..why is my mind so chill? My legs feel floaty. My heartbeat is strong and steady like an 808 beat in my headphones.

Hold up, there it is: that pain--that familiar knawing of quadriceps while incinerated muscle fascia crinkles into an infusion of lead –reminding me of my cumbersome corporealness. That numbing of my frontal lobe as my veins begin to swell in my hands and feet from freshly hyper blood.

Oh perfect, here comes Negative Nancy…

“It’s fine, Leila…just drop back a little more—finishing side by side with your teammates is nothing shameful. Look. You’re not even halfway through this repeat yet—you can’t hold this pace—you’re not even built to do this…in the end selfish hammering can only get you so far…in the end: You are pathetic. You can’t race. You choke on adversity—sputtering valiantly, but sputtering none the less.”

“NO.”

I can hold on for a little longer, I know I can. I’m not a sissy. Ugh. It hurts though!

HURTS….

“NO.” my stubborn-side said again. ( I suspect this bit of me is the only piece of my Viking ancestors I have left.)

“I don’t give up. FIGHT. BE TOUGH. Prove your worth. If you can’t push past this point---you might as well just quit.”

NO. I DON’T QUIT.

I push harder. Dodging rocks, weaving in and out-- eyes instinctually succumb to a feverish scanning of the ground.

Zach was in my direct line of sight (meaning: I’m approaching the “finish line.”) Momentum’s curveball comes back and I whack it.

Eyes.
So many eyes are on my hurdling body. I can feel them and suddenly I start to swell with a sense of self. Zach’s observance of this transformation is oh so sweet. (He thinks I'm not capable of anything.) Actually, no—those obnoxiously elitist and preppy teammates (some of which had already finished their “exclusively custom-made” workout), were the most satiating gazes to absorb. Yeah...

My corporeal image is translating one mantra right now: Don’t mess.

I’m unstoppable, yo.

(The funny thing is, I only realized I can do this …like just now.)

Passing the makeshift orange-cone thing that is the finish line, my coldly famished legs quiver as crumple to a stop. All whimpering breath flees my lungs, taking what’s left of that swirling pessimism with it. I need to stop kicking myself to the curb: Nothing was stopping me from doing this all along. NOTE TO SELF: you need to stop being your own worst enemy.

It's Raining Sideways and I'm Bored in Class.

SURPRISE.I've changed my mind again. V-Blog shall henceforth be an annual blog. Why?Because Im feeling unexpressed these days. I need a "roasting" area. Considering my followers are officially gone and the fact that I'm usually ignored/considered rather silly and/or unimportant--I am granting myself the privilege of writing slanderously and uncomfortably honest.
Debatably Yours,
Luna Lovegood

The Social Network.

So it occurred to me last night in the shower (yes, the shower), that social media--America's latest obsessional vice-- (blogs, Facebook, twitter, etc..) are so appealing and practically viral because of the  post-modern shortage of recognition, love, and human-need of individual expression (unless you happen to be a celebrity.)
It's no wonder--as I look at the population in general--barreling to lunch or commuting to work--people don't even wanna look at you--much less hear about what you had for breakfast, who wrote on your Facebook wall last night, or you that you're against Obama's latest foreign policy.  These sites--these modes of expression--are no more than a desperate, and to some degree--even narcissistic method of giving us a false sense of being wanted, connected, popular and loved (hey, obviously I'm guilty of it too.)
 The funny thing is--is even though I know all this is true--I still can't help but like to think every time I put up a new blogpost--someone out there is avidly hanging on my every word ( practically drooling over a computer screen, waiting to hear about my life as if  I'm some sort of fictional misunderstood-hero of a best-selling novel ha.)  The truth of the matter is--no one actually cares--save a few. It's funny, because I realize my blog has really just become a therapeutic diary-of-sorts..something that I can look back on and say"oh, yeah...I remember when that happened and I felt that way.."

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." 
— William Shakespeare (As You Like It)


I also realized that all I really wanted out of life was to love and be loved (as cheesy as it sounds). All the adventures along the way are just taking joy in experiencing the world and all it has to offer..but it doesn't mean anything unless I can share my wonder/experience/feelings with someone. And so ( from all this deep-soul-searching stuff...naturally I started googling ha.) What I found were a couple of chilling quotes from some pretty cool people...

"When a poor person dies of hunger, it has not happened because God did not take care of him or her.

It has happened because neither you nor I wanted to give that person what he or she needed. 

 Everybody today seems to be in such a terrible rush, anxious for greater developments and greater riches and so on, so that children have very little time for their parents. Parents have very little time for each other, and in the home begins the disruption of peace of the world.

If we really want to love we must learn how to forgive."

While I'm on my cheese-puff soap box...check out the YouTube clip featured below (if you haven't haven't already)--for some reason it's become an inspiration-of-sorts haha..plus the song is bomb. ("Got Nuffin"- by Spoon) 

NOTE: I'm not saying I have (or ever will/am supporting) ramming one's car into suburban homes unannounced...I just like the vibes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roI-IkEUWhM

Sheeple and Maroons (Mah-RUNEs)

I am sick and tired of people who have so much sorrow for their own struggles (yet a total lack-of- empathy/sympathy) for anybody else. FOR EXAMPLE...

 EXHIBIT A: an email I received this morning.

"Hello blahblah,

While this is a nice cause and everything and I might normally be interested. This is not appropriate for the cuwomenstrack email chain. I don't mind getting all the cross country emails even when they don't pertain to me because they are track related, but I do mind getting spammed.

-  Sheeple McSheepster"

--> I am tired of attempting to be there for other people-- only to discover over and over again, that the carelessness of mind that led to their problems will affect me in the end as they exercise their carelessness with me. I am tired of being unperceivable ----yet having to navigate the endless projections of others concerning who I may be.

--> I am tired of being interpreted through my performance of self-- rather than being judged by my potential to be responsive to everything that effects me.

--> Most of all, I am tired of being used and worn down by obligations to the people I love. I am angry that I must constantly toil without peace, while surrounded by overwhelming social stupidity and protectionism.
--> I am perhaps most angry that I was not more confident about myself earlier in life and able to figure out a way to live alone, and have a decent life at the same time.

  At this point, I'm so angry that my own ethical disposition - only after finding out I'm better than being a capitalist stooge. Sometimes I feel frustrated by the sheer stupidity of the world (in general), and --am sad to say--- enjoy my own company more than anyone else's sometimes.
GREAT.
Now, I'm even angry at myself for the horrible things I wish upon stupid-people everywhere who insist on being either a sheeple or maroon--OR BOTH.

V-Blog ReVamped.

V-Blog will now be called "The UnVectorious". Due to the recent unrelenting-monolistic nature of V-Blog--the site will be under-going a bit of reconstruction for a couple of days. No worries. V-Blog will still have the same element--but, like water  being poured into a different-sized mug--it's filling it's new environment (which is still pretty unclear at this point)-- but, whatever.

The lives of the V-Bloggers are changing and diverging onto different directions...with unknown destinations. So, embracing change--and the hands holding us, V marches onward into unknown territory. 

So Why "UnVectorious?"

- A Vector is a straight line.

- Life is not a straight line.

- The new direction of the blog is quite branched-out and experimental (rather than promotional with a unifying theme.) 

-  T. Roosevelt's "man in the arena"speech is epic. 

- It's my experience that winning isn't everything. Mistakes are more valuable.

- Sometimes a goodbye is a second chance in disguise.

...I'm not angry, I'm just sayin'--  even "The UnVectorious" are welcome.

Vocabulary Enrichment.

Our technology-wired population is constantly creating new dimensions to reality. Even armed with an iPhone-(an almost essential "portable-portal"- to the invisible (but omnipresent) force of the Internet), it's difficult to keep up with today's lingo. Here's a couple interesting ones I came across today....

“cherry-blossoming”

- Following Twitter feeds and liking Facebook pages for pay. Taking it’s name from the Japanese slang for professional fans--”sakura”, or cherry blossoms--the technique lets companies buy social clout.

“Proofers”

-People who demand that Osama bin Laden is dead. Like “birthers”, proofers insist on evidence-- yet find their conspiracies more believable than evidence.

“macaroon-technique”

- He used PowerPoint to impart what he calls the “macaroon technique,” referring to the sandwich-like French macaron pastry. This can be applied to most any product (including, presumably, a Xerox machine) and goes something like this: “Madam, this timepiece (or diamond or handbag) comes from our finest workshop and it has a value of $10,000. If you buy it, your children are sure to enjoy it for generations to come.”

“Seagan”

- As for food Kelli is what she likes to call a, “Seagen.” A vegan that eats seafood.

“Dittoism”

-There is a tendency in favour of what is called “dittoism,” i.e., everyone thinking the same thought without a healthy tendency to break the uniformity of thought.

“broccoli-journalism”

-Collective responsibility. Socialized journalism. This is the ultimate in broccoli journalism: You are not only forced to read what journalists say is good for you but you are now forced to pay for it through taxation.

Plus One me?

GOOGLE + GUIDE

In capitalism, no corporation can survive as a monopoly for long. Just like the Android market emerged to compete with Apple’s dominion over the smartphone industry, Google’s has introduced “Google plus”-- a new online social network initiative directly aiming to redefine how social sharing works. With new practical concepts like organized “Circles”, “Hangouts” and other innovative features, Google plus is definitely here to stay and not afraid to compete.

.....So You Want to Setup a Google Plus Profile?
Before you respond to a Google + invite...be informed!!!


- Google + only works if you own a Google account with an active “Google Profile”. So if you  wanna sign up for Google Plus...make sure you have a working profile!
- For all you appsters--be informed that only regular Gmail accounts are supported by Google  +, so you can’t use your Google apps account to setup a profile. (So if you asked your  buddy to send you a Google + invite and give them your Google Apps email address---you  won’t ever receive it in your inbox!)
- If you happen to have a Yahoo or Windows Live or Hotmail account, DON”T WORRY! All is  not lost--just use your existing address to sign up for a Gmail account (if haven’t done so  already.) Once you’ve signed up-- you’re good to go! ( But don’t forget to create a google  profile within your Gmail account and make sure it’s visible to the public.)
YAY! So you’ve got a Google + Invite! Now what?
Calm down. Just click on the invitation link delivered to your email address and you’ll be transported to the magical world of Google +. Now sign in with your Google account username and you’re official.