portlandese

Yesterday, in a stress-induced push to do some hill training, I ran up Mount Tabor. I haven't been in ages, probably more than a year, and I tried to follow the route that C and I used to run once a week on "Mount Tabor Mondays." It took me at least a month back then to work up to running straight to the top without stopping. I remember how painful it was then, deep in my chest, the tight dry air. This time, although I haven't run anything particularly hilly in quite awhile, I made it all the way. I can't say it was easy or felt great, but I felt good afterwards, and it felt picturesque to run in the dry summer grass stained with late evening sun.

This morning, awakening hurt like pushing up through six feet of black earth. I couldn't understand how or why the sound of the alarm was even happening. I was deep in a dream in which I was in a shop on Hawthorne, trying on dresses. A woman who was there with her husband was trying to find a cute skirt, and had tried on every one in the shop. In the dream I gave her directions to Ipnosi and drew a map showing it just down Hawthorne from where we were. In reality it's up on NW 23rd, but no matter-- I dreamt of a real Portland street and a real Portland store! Much the same way that the first time you dream in a language you're learning, you know you're fluent, I realized with joy that I am now, truly, a Portlander. After giving directions to the woman, a younger woman struck up a conversation with me in the dressing room area, asking what I do when I'm bored. She had recently moved to the neighborhood and she said she usually went shopping when she was bored. Even in the dream I had trouble remembering the last time I was bored.