In my recurring nightmare, I am actually moving. I am running as fast as I can. But, despite my best efforts, everyone is passing me.
Good God, signing up for a 5k might have been a huge mistake. It feels like the equivalent of purposely going onstage and attempting to perform a piece that quit rehearsing weeks ago or jumping out a window because I once had a dream that I could fall far better than I could fly.
I once asked my dad why he backed into parking spots when we went to church. He kept his eyes forward as we walked from the back of the parking lot to the church’s front door. “Quicker exit,” he said, and I think about this as I pull into the parking lot at work and watch the side mirrors as I back myself into a corner spot.
You eat the macaroni and cheese you think you deserve. This is not a judgment against people who choose boxed over baked, but I do believe that they could learn to love themselves a little more.
But this is a job issue and that makes it a money issue, which is precisely the type of thing I could take to the God of the prosperity gospel.
When will the amnesia set it? When will the many tears I shed be replaced by feelings of nostalgia?
But when the time came, and I chose to close my notebook and lace up one of my three pairs of running shoes, I discovered that the hope was nothing more than that—a wish for an untrue thing to be true. Honestly, I have to confess, I’m not sure if I like actually running or if I just prefer it to sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper attempting (and failing) to be special.
It is hard to grow your blog if you keep forgetting that you have one.