Musing on complete honesty.
I always try to be completely honest with you.
Even if that may not hold me in a flattering light.
I did not run the Peachtree Road Race for the umpteenth time this morning. Say this with sincere apologies to Stork who fixed my car yesterday so it would be ready at 5 in the morning when I needed it.
I didn’t sleep in either. I just didn’t get up at 4 and drive into Atlanta to start the race with my wave at 9:05.
I woke up in the middle of the night and thought of all the work that I wanted done before family comes to visit in a little less than a week.
It would be afternoon before I got home — then I wanted to do something holiday-ish with my family.
So not a lot of writing today if I laced up my Vomeros and headed into the city.
I chose to get up early and write.
I felt sad like a wet noodle for a minute. Especially when my husband acted surprised I didn’t run.
He usually encourages me not to run these things. If he was surprised, D*mn, I surely made the wrong choice.
Life doesn’t go as planned. I’m more flexible in my spirit. Things that used to make my inside ball up like some mass of twine at the bottom of my grandfather’s utility closet flow through me now.
This morning sadness about missing the race dammed up inside for about 20 minutes — then it spilled over the wall — leaving me free to work.
I didn’t need another incredibly cool Peachtree t-shirt anyway.
How are you these days?
Dammed, flooded or flowing peacefully…
