It's late Sunday night and I wanted to check in before going to bed. This was a wonderful weekend with the family. We went out to dinner the past couple nights and we went to Lombardi Ranch to buy pumpkins and go on some mule drawn wagon rides this morning.
Yesterday I ran the 18 miles and it was not nearly as bad as my 16 mile run ended up. I took it slow from the beginning and I was amazed at the strength I had at the end to pour it on. Peter was unable to run the last half-mile with me. His legs gave out. But his last long run was the 14 miler, which was over a month ago, so he should feel good that he completed most of the 18 miles running.
It was a strange week for me in that I've been doing a lot of research for a new script I’m working on and I came across some information about Ted Bundy. Even mentioning his name in the blog makes me feel like I violating something. This man was a monster and reading up on him really made me overly cautious the past couple days. I don't want to say paranoid, but I'm looking at things a little differently. My glasses aren't so rose colored.
The most unsettling thing is to think that something could happen to my children by some kind of monster like him. I sometimes tell myself that God wouldn't let anything more terrible happen to our family, that we already have enough on our plate. But I'm once again battling with my faith.
I want to be strong and trust in everything. But I'm so... bitter. That's the only word I can come up with. And this bitterness is spilling over. I can't even watch a show like "Extreme House Makeover" without feeling a little cynical.
I think about this blog and what I wrote last year. I'm sure it must have been filled with so much optimism. But I don't have so much optimism. Perhaps this is because my birthday is around the corner. I'll be 35 next Monday and I still don't feel like I've accomplished anything. After all of the things I've done, am I always gong to feel this way? When am I going to get over myself?
But going back to Bundy. Reading about his depravity and how he ruined families has really made me look at my wife and children and love them even more. I wish I could hold on to them forever end envelope them with a protective cloak that will keep them out of harm's way. But I'm no superman. I'm not even a great man. I'm just Scott. Husband and dad. Son and brother.
I keep wishing that something wonderful would happen to lift some of the stress out of our lives. But there's just so much beating down that optimism that those thoughts really feel like wishful thinking and not hope or confidence.
These thoughts only seem to come up when I'm on the computer. Why is that? Really, we have a good life. I love our house and we've been able to survive on our meager savings for much longer than we thought possible. But I worry so much. I worry so much that it consumes me and I feel like I'm projecting it on to the kids. Those darling, beautiful children. I don't want them to carry my problems. I want only the best for them.
And still, after all of this... crap I've just unloaded, I still am so thankful that we have our weekends together. To be able to spend these two days as a family... it means everything.
By now I must have driven away any of the few readers I still had.