the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle
and the tortoise appealed to the hare
Triggered by a soft soapy smell of my fingers that somehow evoked lackadaisical memories of my childhood, I thought wistfully, as I ran down to the gym this morning, “I wish I could just slow down, if only for a moment.”
I wanted my mind to stop racing, to stop chasing and delighting in and writing about all my ripe dreams. And instead of picking the fruit of my imagination, I wanted to simply languor in the summery shadow of the sprawling branches of my mind.
Alas, as I transcribe these thoughts, the intrinsic humor of it all does not evade me, for I immediately resign to and recognize the futility of attempting to achieve such humble aspirations.
Note to Self: I ran a 6:30 mile ion the treadmill to compensate for all your whining and whimpering…
in the beginning .00 daily archives