The worst part of winter is the wet socks. November snow is the worst kind of snow. Second only to March snow.
Still recovering from running two half marathons in October, which just isn't right. I'm more damaged than injured, I realized. Injuries heal over time. Damaged goods stick with you. Months of rest won't heal this, and in fact makes it worse.
Slowed, but not stopped. I do my best running when I'm with my dog, dashing from tree to tree, walking to sniff a bit, then taking off smiling into the wind.
The Walking Dead started so incredible, but now the episodes have been snoozers. And American Horror Story feels like work. Bring on The Game of Thrones. And MockingJay. (Speaking of which, big thanks to ultra-marathon runner Kevin Jones for hooking up my fangirl daughter with posters straight from LionsGate. So shines a good deed in a weary world.)
This blog has been pretty empty lately. My meta-artsy side is actually trying to make a statement that nothing much happens in this world, nothing much changes. People don't change. Sure, they struggle, but they do not have epiphanies and nothing much is resolved. In other words, the lack of updates is, in fact, a reflection of the real world and true art.
I dressed up as Nicholas Cage and pointed this out in class. Take a minute to watch the results:
Okay, Thanks.
