Starting This Thing

I have always been the pushover peacekeeper. To my detriment I never decide to take the wheel and drive. I’m the one in the back seat, plotting the fastest, convenient, and simplest route. I’m the one never saying a word. If I were at sea, I would be adrift with the tide, meandering with the pull of the moon. I can see me now, bobbing and ducking under the waves. Sinking until eventually I’m more under than not. Finally I drown.

But, no more. I’m starting this thing called Done. D.O.N.E. It sounds terrifying and terrific all at once. Take Christmas cards. I used to mail a card to everyone in my address book, taking care to care. I mean really care. It was rare if I just signed my name and called it good. I really tried. I’d promise myself year after year not to be let down if I didn’t receive one with half as much thought in return. But, every year it was the same thing. I’d feel slightly slighted. This year I’m not sending cards to family or friends. Fukc ’em. Instead I signed up to send 10 random cards to 10 random strangers. I specifically requested international addresses. That way, if I write to a serial killer it will take him some time to find me.

The other thing I’ve started is Over. O.V.E.R. It sounds stupid, but when it comes to my running I’m starting over. Really, from scratch. This week I ran 66 minutes and covered 6.28 miles. No big numbers, No big deal. It has been two months since I ran with carefree joy. These days I run with demons called pain and worry, one for each shoulder. I need to get past them.

Okay. So my real issues are not with Christmas cards and mileage. I’m talking in code for relationships put asunder and death did us part. I’m not ready to confront the walking away I must do…nor the going away you just did.

Categories: Confessional, Hilltop, Holidays, life, running | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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One thought on “Starting This Thing

  1. lloydsloops

    i’m struck by the absence of blog on the
    analysis couch
    i guess because it breathes so easily
    it finds its own;
    that last line and a half

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