Apologies to Nabokov's geist

I'm going to change his quote around a bit; I made one substitution, but it's all good: the Lolita-penning butterfly man will grant me the license from the grave, I hope. Having nothing in the legs can equate to stupidity sometimes, I suppose. "My loathings are simple: vapidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music." I ran a 5-mile tempo today. I went out at 5:20 pace and fizzled into 5:40s, throwing my arms akimbo like some washed-up Circus-Circus clown on a bad acid trip. As luck would have it, I stumbled across this interview today* and, upon watching it, I immediately felt a sense of commonality with Deena. So I'm thinking of doing what she did to overcome malaise and that poopy feeling that comes with throwing your body out on the streets day in and day out, that pounding of your fibias(sic), that suscepting of your lateral malleoli (If you have time and are so inclined, check my Latin plural here and report back with your findings on that as well as every grammatical mistake honing in on dangling participles, brazen typos with wanton disregard for blooger.com's shitty spellchekr, malapropisms, and every WW1 historical fallacy since this blog's inception, please.) to an endomorphic 170-pounds of Mongolian ankle bone shooting. I'm going to do the subelite wannabe equivalent, the single dad-living-in-a-van-down-by-the-river equivalent. . . I'm going to write: (Picture McWorld behind you with a few yentas peering out from their windows---with their eyebrows crinkled voyeuristically seeking a vicarious life--for a backdrop, not some Mammoth Lakes mansion in the woods with a million square acres of pristine forest-for-a-lot backdrop.) I was over in Europe getting ready for my track seaon I was over in my cubicle, smelling the 'redolence' of half-digested lard--squeezed out from between pimply, sweaty-with-lots o' sticky hair-buttcheeks--wafting across the open-space work environment, staring at the local 5K schedule on my monitor. (...censored) 1. Cancel entire track season Cancel Barnie Fife Run 4 The Cure/gimmiecrack corn 5K season. Let the first place, 16:XX spoils go to some wannabe Quentin Cassady collegian who's out to heelstrike his feet into a closet full of plastic bauble, who's out to pump his pubescent BO-wafting arms into a scrapbook full of unread local newspaper rags . 2. I went on a little vacation to Italy with my husband I went on a little vacation down to my cinderblock basement with my Id, my pan of Goya brand eggrolls, as well as my case of Heineken (purchased in the dark cavern from the shifty man with the baseball bat). 3. When I got back I really went to the 'grindstone?' of acupuncture, chiropractor, massaging, stretching, ice baths twice a day. . . basically the entire day was filled with trying to getting ME, ME-ME-ME to feel better and get my legs back under ME. When I went back upstairs, it was 6am (wow was I hungover and bloated with MSG-infused saturated fat!) and I really went to the 'grindstone!' of making my daughter's breakfast, walking the dog and picking up his shit, off in the condo association's official 'green-space,' in a Wegmans' brand plastic sack so that the dilligent yenta police don't report me to the Gestapo or to Mr.Wiggins, paying the bills, driving slowly across a backed-up sea of cellphone-wielding Philamaniacs and Dunkin Donuts-pimping streetblimps, and smelling my cubemate's farts while listening to him discuss that damned Eaglez' dropped ball vis-a-vis his fantasy football team's prospects. . and so I did everything to get my legs back under me at 11pm, doing my 6-mile double, staring at my little white wall. 4. And then one day I had a great run at the Lakes basin(sounds sexy as hell). One day I had a great run on a treadmill in the middle of Philashit, but the next day I felt terrible again where it was filled with trying to get me-me to realize that I won't feel better, because I have come to realize that this sport is nothing but feeling shitty and acting selfish--that running vapidity can equal stupidity. ------------------------------ *Fantastic website, by the way (watch Goucher doing his very best Tang Soo Do** impression, as well as Salazar moving about like a Family Circus cartoon***.) **See Chuck Norris or this nifty site with a nifty MIDI for details about all things Tang Soo Do. ***This is what I mean.