When I updated this site to the latest Drupal code base, I managed to fix various administration problems with the site. The number one problem I've had and didn't know I had (clearly the best problem to have) is with comments. I had about 20 comments in the "approval queue" (wtf?), and didn't realize it.

They're all approved, and now, my five six (six! Megan!) readers (Hi Mom, Roshan, Mike, Kris, Megan and Heather!), you can comment again. Whoo!

If I ever port my blog theme to Drupal 4.7, I'll move the site back to its original location so that it's public again. Maybe. If.

Went running at the Stanford dish tonight. In my infinite wisdom, instead of running with my car key, I decided to throw all of my stuff into the car trunk, and run with my clicker. I convinced Kris to do the same, and off we went.

When we arrived back at the cars (one seriously cramped hamstring later), I pulled the clicker from out of my sportsbra (ah, yes, the perfect place to carry all your important items without worry of losing them as they bounce out of a pocket, or jostle out of a sock, only to be lost along your trail forever), and pressed the open-trunk button.

Nothing happened.

I pressed the open-door button.

Nothing happened.

I fiddled with the clicker with little success, then asked Kris for a nickel to open the back. When I opened the back of the clicker, I realized the folly of the sportsbra storage unit when used with small electronics.

The insides were all wet, and the battery connectors completely corroded.

Yay, sweat!

After unsuccessfully cleaning the connectors, but before everyone else in our group left, as the only working cell phone between Kris and me was safely locked in my car trunk, I asked him to call AAA, being once again thankful that he insists on being a AAA member for incidents just like this one. I have my Honda Roadside service, also, but its number was, once again, safely locked up in the car.

Kris called, and I gave up on the clicker, handing it to him.

True to the "five meeeenuts!" it takes him to solve any problem I have, he opened the clicker, dried off the rest of the electronics that I had managed to completely soak on my run, reassembled the clicker, and pressed the open-trunk button.

*clunk!*

The trunk opened, and I was once again able to get into my car. I told him next time, we should put the other's car key into our trunks. That way, if Kris is locked out of his car, I can open my trunk, get his key, which he can unlock his door, pop the trunk and get my key, and vice versa.

Unless both clickers die. Then we're in trouble.

Just after college, I lived with John Schmidt and his brother Dave in a one bedroom apartment. I did warn that I have lots of John stories.

We would go running most evenings, through the rolling hills of the streets of Monrovia. John would hold back and run my pace with me, I would try running faster so that he wouldn't be bored. He'd often run ahead when we were out of the "bad" parts of town, ones that really weren't so bad.

Most times, my times would improve. Not always, but most times. One evening, having run harder than I had before, I asked in exasperation, "Does this ever get any easier?!?" John laughed, and said, "It doesn't."

"It doesn't get any easier, because you're always pushing yourself. Running slower becomes easier, but running hard never does."

I kept wondering if this running would become easier, as I ran from home to track practice, which was only 2.7 miles away, but I was trying to get there before Kris caught up to me. He let me start before he started running and Heather started rollerblading to the high school. I didn't run the whole way there, but had to stop at various lights, and walked for a few dozen yards after the light. I managed to make it to the school before Kris, but not before Heather, who passed me about a quarter mile from the school, but slowed to let me keep up.

I wondered the same thing as I ran the 3 sets of plyos Doyle planned, and the 3 200 yard sprints that weren't so sprint-like when I ran them. Does this ever get any easier? Does the cotton clear from my legs so that I can concentrate on ultimate instead of how tired I am?

Does it ever get any easier? Does life ever get any easier?

I'd have to say, if I'm pushing myself, no, it never will.

And that's okay.

Yesterday afternoon, after we arrived home from practice, I noticed Annie had eaten a quarter of the pie that Steffi had made for us. I had left the pie on top of the toaster oven, on the counter. In a fit of anger, I followed Annie around the house yelling at her, kicking her crate in frustration that she ate the food I wanted. Again. That dog has eaten more of my food, and more of my expensive, tasty food than we've spent on Bella in vet bills (and she's had two surgeries). I put her in her crate, and insisted she stay there, while I went to sleep to dissipate.

This morning, I was still angry at Annie. I pretty much ignored her before I left for work, then ignored her when I arrived after work. I fed them, then went outside to garden. I had watered the tomatoes and pumpkins, and was surprised the cucumbers were actually growing. I had covered the ground around them with mulch, and I think it helped keep the ground moist so that they could grow well.

I gave Bella some tomatoes and snap peas while I was gardening after she came out to watch me through the fence, but continued to ignore Annie when she sat next to Bella.

I've been trying to bring in a bucket of mulch and take out a bucket of weeds when I head into the garden. As I was picking weeds, I heard a cat purring nearby. I looked around, puzzled that a cat would be in my garden, and so close to me. Not seeing any cat, I looked around for Bella, thinking that she might be snuffling around outside the garden. She wasn't there, so I looked around. Where is that darn cat?

I looked up to see a humming bird dancing a little over a yard from me. It hummed along, sounding just like a purring cat as is flitted around. Amazed, I watched it as it landed on one of my tomato plants. I raised my hand, and reached out to it. It flew over to my hand, and buzzed around it, purring as it did, never quite landing on it, but close, about a hand width away.

It was amazing. The little bird flew around my hand, then circled my head, before flying up to the dead apricot tree to sit. It waited for a while, then flew around my upheld hand before buzzing away.

The moment was incredible, a small gift from nature.

Afterward, I felt my anger at Annie, which I had nurtured all day, just disappear. I gave her some snap peas, then her after-dinner treat. She seemed to understand I wan no longer angry at her, as she followed me around during my field run at Cherry Chase, seemingly happy that I wasn't ignoring her any longer.

The other garden surprise was the discovery the plant I thought was a unproducing acorn squash was actually a well producing zucchini plant.

Not that I have good luck with zucchini or anything. This plant has silver veins in its leaves. Will it, too, be bitter?

Mike's back! Mike's back! Oh, praise whatever deity you think may exist, Mike's back!

And now that he's back, changes are going to be made!

All of them good.

I somehow convinced him that daily walks to discuss daily progresses are a good thing. So, we discussed the current business status while running through the Sunnyvale parking lot maze at Evelyn, just north of Murphy. Mike looked at the progress of the maze, and skipped over lines, walking to the center, then back out, following the maze with his eyes. I, on the other hand, ran along the entire maze, giggling the whole time.

Mike, once again, had some brilliant insights. He commented that I always seem to have a stone around my neck, that I'm weighed down by some project that prevents me from doing the work I want to be doing. It frustrates me, it frustrates Mike, and it makes Doyle just laugh at the both of us.

He made the comment, and I had to wonder if I do this on purpose. I've been in the same position for two years now. Is it a defense mechanism? If I never work on my projects, they can't fail, right? What a horrible, horrible thought: that a fear of failing stops me from trying.

We talked and walked and talked and walked, and decided that half of our hours will be internal project hours. That's forty hours a week working on our own projects, 160 hours a month. We also agreed to increase our hourly rates so that we don't have as much work, giving us the time to work on our projects. Both of these are suggestions Wook suggested, and Mike whole-hearted agreed with them, so I'm happy and excited about the changes.

This time, the changes are going to stick. I'm beyond determined about this. Things have to change, and this feels like the right way to go.