Dogs Shut Up When You Bark Back

So after a hard day's work at the new job (by the way....I started a new job), I came home to a sink full of dishes, a white tile floor COVERED in muddy paw prints, and a few (about 50) loads of laundry that I let pile up over the past week to be done. When this happens, I usually prioritize. Obviously, only one household chore can be done in a day. Many people think that due to my heritage I have some inherent want to clean, dust, sweep, etc. Ask Officer Bob. This is a lie. After an internal debate (a little bit of eenie meenie miney moe) I landed on dishes. The easiest of the three. Gimme a break. It was my third day on the job and the state inspector showed up. I think that picking the easiest of three chores upon returning home was a step up from my usual habit of consuming an entire bottle of Kahlua.  I will take the time now to tell you that everything you have read thus far is completely irrelevant. I give you the right to click that little red x in the upper right hand corner of your browsing window now to avoid completely wasting another 2 minutes of your life.

If you are still reading........all the previously stated was written to simply inform you that I was tired after this particular day. Not just tired, but HELLA tired. So.....at 9:00pm, I, the 25 year old going on 65 went to bed. I shut my eyes, rolled over, counted goats, rolled over, covered my face with three pillows, and finally, 20 minutes later decided that maybe my body wasn't quite as ready as my mind for sleepy time. This is where this story gets pretty ridiculous. I think I blacked out or something (and there wasn't even any Kahlua involved!)

I got up.
Walked to my dresser.
Put on my running clothes.
Laced up my totally rad running shoes (thanks to Officer Bob)
Strapped on my GPS watch and reflective vest (no comments necessary)
And walked outside.

By the time I was standing in the cold, rainy weather it was too late to retract this decision. And so, I channeled my inner Forrest Gump, and I ran.

And ran.

And got barked at by EVERY flippin dog in this small town.

And ran.

And actually convinced myself that wearing a reflective vest made me an athlete.

And ran.

And looked down at my watch to see I was passing mile 10.

And ran.

And thought to myself that a Mexican runnin' around a small town at 11:00 at night might be slightly suspicious.

And ran.

And cussed.....ALOT. At myself. I honestly can not tell you what happened to me.

And ran.

And totally jammed out to Journey, singing loudly, and making the flippin dogs bark even louder.

And ran.

And looked down at my watch to see the numbers 13.7.

So I stopped.

13.7

As in miles.

End Time?  11:53pm.

(And for all you runners out there (I'm talking to you El Aguila), I realize this time is slow. I get it. But the number to focus on in this manner is 13.7. Miles. That I ran.)

And then?

I was tired.

So I went to bed.

P.S. In case you are wondering, I already ordered a CT scan and set up an appointment with the best psychologist in town. I'm sick. I need help.