Movement - The weeks have been consumed in a moment, as it goes. Jobless for months, aimed for no determinable direction which has turned into this really interesting schedule of creating healthy food for the masses, and becoming an admin/marketer/writer for an endurance racing company - and I have my afternoons off to run in the mid-70's sunshine prominently welcoming spring into Boulder. It's all over the place as I continue to know, but it's okay. If my red rivulet doesn't get the best of me, then I feel empowered in doing things. Real Things. But if I stop for a minute and think about where I'm headed, I'm tempted to back out, take a random-don't-tell-anyone trip somewhere romantic, or break bones, or my car, anything drastic to change the course of the direction I'm headed, which is unknown, but still, when I stop. to think, I'm afraid I'm just thankful to be Doing, and am hiding from the thing that makes my soul feel like butter quickly melting. Or Hostess cupcakes. Where are the things to do that feel as good as a Hostess cupcake gorged down my throat - it's smooth frosting top offering an elasticy give, it's inside plush soft, it's cream cream? Where's that kind of romanticism.
I'm idealistic.
But God, if I have ideas, there's a possibility for fruition right?
The word "fruition" makes me think of Adam and Eve.
I'm on the eve of heading to Moab for a 24 Hours of Utah/100 mile race. A. and I are going to try and motorbike there. Details to come!
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