Like most weeks before it, this one was crazy. I had planned to ease into holiday mood before going to Germany tomorrow, spend a few evenings at home, maybe write a bit. I've neglected writing almost entirely, it's so depressing. It's not for lack of topics. I have so many stories in my head and, sadly half-finished and forlornly awaiting completion, on my computer that I can hardly keep track anymore. But I rarely feel chilled enough to kick back and let the words flow. It's not the inspiration that's missing, it's the discipline.
It could be because I'm either spectacularly disorganized or a busy social butterfly drinking life in the big city like a wahoo, according to legend, drinks water. I'd like to think it's the second because that makes me go to sleep with a smile on my face every night, but it's most likely the first. In fact, I should probably have written it dysorganized to allude to its pathological character.
Tonight, one thing was high on my list. For the first time in a while, I was gonna shave my legs. I felt the marathon on Sunday deserved that. Shaved legs give me the illusion of speed and superiority. Sadly, having come home from a colleague's tequila-infused farewell party, I didn't get around to it. I have to draw my psycho-boost from knowing that the weather is predicted to be perfect, warm and sunny.
Before running, I have to travel, and before traveling, I had to pack. This took place in a frenzy, clothes being stuffed into a backpack and luggage being minimized. My computer shrank to the size and weight of a USB stick in a few seconds, and I'll still have everything I need. I even remembered, at the last moment, to put my ClifShots into Ziplock bag. It would be a shame if airport security confiscated my energy booster for fear of terrorist activity.
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