I had a goal. It was arbitrary, but it was a goal, and I didn't make it. Even though it's silly, I am fully capable of making myself miserable over something like this.
I want to run, but I've been so tired that I can't make myself get up early to run, and I'm so tired when I get home that I can't make myself do more than take a short jaunt with Buddy.
I'm happy enough right now, but it could only take a couple more days of not-running, or a couple of more days of dwelling on missing my arbitrary goal that I'll sink down again into not-happy. So it's a good thing that I don't have school tomorrow. It's a good thing I'm going to write this post and then go to bed, so that I can get up and run tomorrow. I'm aware that if I can write about maybe being sad without crying, then that's a good thing, too, because it means I'm not there yet, and I still have time to run it off.
Somehow, I'm getting better at being myself, but the view from this side of the brain always looks dicier than the one from where you're sitting. Trust me.
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2 comments:
Aaah, those NaBloPoMo people, they are just a bunch of ... obsessive ... writing every day ... meanies ... with ... bad breath. And COOTIES.
The only reason *I'm* sad you didn't make your goal was that I had to go a whole day without reading your awesome writing.
Hang in there. I know that feeling of fighting it, all too well. Pound the fish oil tablets, run, eat appetizers...
Thanks, Carrie. I know. The cooties. Gross.
See you tonight. And I did run, so the clouds have lifted for now.
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