There are crosswalks with lights every two blocks (at least) on our street. When you cross in the middle of the road and expect me to stop for you as you lollygag in diagonal formation it makes me want to hit you with my car. It is especially maddening when you STOP in my lane to look at your map or swig your beer from a paper bag. Knowing I still have to stop for you, even though you are in my car's space, makes me want to cry.
Dear long runs,
You are kicking my ass. My pace is getting a tiny bit faster and my confidence soaring as I am running farther each week than I've done in my entire life. However, the sore muscles in my back, hips, hamstrings, and bottoms of my feet on top of the fact my intestines turn into a Boy Scout-quality knot after each run, is making you way less fun to party with. Catch up, please!
Dear Johanna's apartment pool,
Thank you for such sweet relief this past weekend. I wish we were closer.
Dear Kansas City summers,
I really really love you. But lately you've been acting a bit unlovable. Lows in the mid-80s and heat index of 115? For more than four days in a row? Pushing your luck a bit don't you think? Don't make me wish for fall. I beg you. Please. Just stop.
Dear people who smoke along the jogging path,
SERIOUSLY? Do you see what I am trying to do here?