Note from self
Note from self: You should blog today.
Reply from me: Shut up and go away.
Self: It's been three years since you blogged. Some people think you're dead.
Me: Buzz off. Don't you know there's a pandemic going on? It's not the time for writing self-congratulatory posts about my rather boring running life. Besides, there are plenty of thoughtful, articulate writers weighing in about our current global challenge, writers with words that enlighten and comfort.
Self: Doesn't matter. What happened to the you who used to say, "to be a writer, you have to write"? The same person who used to say, "If youtwant to be a runner you have to run"?
Me: Leave me alone.
Self: You were out today, and in your run-walk version of motoring you found that the track was open. Now there's a feel-good story: Aging runner woman does a mile in a blazing 16 minutes. By the time she jogs home, she is filled with love for this incredible planed and all her fellow human beings who inhabit it. Her heart overflows with compassion for every living being in the world.
Me: You are tiresome. You get full of endorphins and suddenly think you're Joan Didion or Anne Lamott. Tell you what. I'll post a picture if you'll promise to go away.
There. Now will you make like a tree and LEAVE?
Self: If you're not going to seize the opportunity to remark on the circles of life -- the seasons, our successes, our failures, the planet that we inhabit, which exists in a perpetual circle? All things go 'round and 'round, a fact that might encourage someone to walk out of his or her sequestered space and listen to the birds of spring. That person might even say, this too, this disease with a name like a crown, will at some point circle from up to down and set us free.
I don't see why you're reluctant to reach out in your small way to your blog followers, all three of them.
Me: Oh, okay. I still think you're a pain in an unmentionable part of my body.
Self: Peace out, darlin'. And keep on running!
Reply from me: Shut up and go away.
Self: It's been three years since you blogged. Some people think you're dead.
Me: Buzz off. Don't you know there's a pandemic going on? It's not the time for writing self-congratulatory posts about my rather boring running life. Besides, there are plenty of thoughtful, articulate writers weighing in about our current global challenge, writers with words that enlighten and comfort.
Self: Doesn't matter. What happened to the you who used to say, "to be a writer, you have to write"? The same person who used to say, "If youtwant to be a runner you have to run"?
Me: Leave me alone.
Self: You were out today, and in your run-walk version of motoring you found that the track was open. Now there's a feel-good story: Aging runner woman does a mile in a blazing 16 minutes. By the time she jogs home, she is filled with love for this incredible planed and all her fellow human beings who inhabit it. Her heart overflows with compassion for every living being in the world.
Me: You are tiresome. You get full of endorphins and suddenly think you're Joan Didion or Anne Lamott. Tell you what. I'll post a picture if you'll promise to go away.
There. Now will you make like a tree and LEAVE?
Self: If you're not going to seize the opportunity to remark on the circles of life -- the seasons, our successes, our failures, the planet that we inhabit, which exists in a perpetual circle? All things go 'round and 'round, a fact that might encourage someone to walk out of his or her sequestered space and listen to the birds of spring. That person might even say, this too, this disease with a name like a crown, will at some point circle from up to down and set us free.
I don't see why you're reluctant to reach out in your small way to your blog followers, all three of them.
Me: Oh, okay. I still think you're a pain in an unmentionable part of my body.
Self: Peace out, darlin'. And keep on running!
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