A Variety of Ways I hope not to Die in the Near Future

I've been working for 2 weeks to pass the 80 posts mark on this blog. It has not worked. I keep on thinking amazing blog thoughts, but it's always when I'm running or biking and I don't have my iPod to record them, so they are lost to the ages. I always say to myself that this one is so great that I will remember it for eternity, but it's not and I do.

I raced Shamus. He won the race, but I kicked teenage Sharon's ass, so I'm feeling pretty good about that. I was so thrilled by the whole event that I signed up for a half marathon in March, partially to force myself to exercise going into the final days of studying for boards. The threat of dying trying to run a stupidly long distance because I haven't done the proper prep work will probably be enough to tear me away from my books for an hour a day, or at least to bring some cue cards to a treadmill. If not, at least I'll have something other than the potential that I failed the exam to worry about after it's done. I really hope I didn't sign up to die though, because a t-shirt is not worth much if you are dead, and I really want that t-shirt.

The other day, I brought a bunch of helium balloons home that were leftover from work, and by a bunch, I mean 24. Well, it would have been 24 had I not lost 3 in a tree on the way home. Things like that make me want to waste more paper, because, let's face it, trees are kind of mean. They've also stolen a few kites in my life. I wish they would just buy their own balloons and kites and stop taking mine, or at least stop complaining when we chop them down and use their flesh to make post-its. Whiny bastards.

Anyways, I walked home with many balloons, but was sad at the number of people who didn't even blink at someone walking down Sheppard Avenue at 8:30 with a whole bunch of balloons. It's like these people never had a childhood. Where was their unbearable envy of my situation? They didn't even have one helium balloon and I had between 21 and 24, depending on when they saw me. If balloons = happiness, I was an infinite amount more happy than they were. That's right, infinite. Unless they had one balloon that I didn't know about, then I was 20-24x more happy. Actually, now that I am home, I have 21 balloons most people I run into on the street are unaware of, so perhaps I just ran into all the balloon hoarders in Toronto who secretly knew that their happiness was equivalent to mine. That explains it. The good thing about hoarding helium balloons is that they won't fall over and crush you. That is what makes me not a hoarder, the falling and crushing aspect. Otherwise, I love random crap, so I'd be all over the hoarding thing, were it not for the sudden death by crushing and/or smothering that would almost certainly occur at some point.

My happy song for the last few months has been Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games) by Of Montreal. My roommate Byla also likes it, but I think it is because she is from the frozen North, so feels a deep soulful connection with Antarctica. I wonder if kids from the North try to dig holes to Antarctica instead of China. That would have made me work harder at digging, because penguins are cute. Wait, so are panda bears. But, the tie-breaking factor is that panda bears are bears and penguins are not bears, so of the two cute cuddly things, one is much more obviously going to maul me. Then again, I would have been in the north, where digging is much harder because of the plentiful ice, so the motivation probably would have just brought me to the same point that any attempt to dig a hole to China got, which was not ever particularly far, usually right around the bottom of my sandbox, at which point the wooden bottom posed a challenge I was too lazy to ever overcome.