I can’t decide how to take care of myself right now. Really, it sounds odd, but I just can’t seem to figure it out. I can’t decide how my body is feeling and what I should do about it. I’ve felt feverish off and on for days. I was totally ready to call in sick tonight if I woke up feeling the same way I felt when I went to bed. But I feel better now, and might even be up for a run. A short one. Maybe? I can’t decide. Will that make me feel better? Or worse? No way of knowing. I could just stay on the couch, which my heart knows is sensible, but sensible is also getting my training runs in this week. Next week, the week before the race, I’m not doing ANY training runs, to give my shin splints a final break. This week, it feels like it’s important to do them.
I’m babbling. I’m grasping at words, any words.
You know what I’m NOT doing? Yeah, you probably do. I’m not writing. Haven’t since I moved. Right now I’m at the point where I’m re-reading the novel slowly, making notes, and deciding how to change the damn book so I can finish it. Hard, hard work, and I’ve been putting it off. And off. I have to get rid of one integral character completely (or at least make her a minor support character). And I’d like to plot it out. I didn’t want a plot when I wrote it, but two years and a very bad memory later, I think I need some help remembering what I’ve done in five hundred plus pages.
I’m moved. No more excuses. I’ll work on it today. And I’ll take it with me to Hawaii. Yow. Just want to be back IN it. It’s good when I’m in it. Right now I’m standing next to it in a bar, bumping elbows with it, but refusing to acknowledge its presence.
No more excuses. Except this one: No running today. I’ve decided. If I’m not sure how I feel, better to err on the safe side. Just had to write it out.
Now I just have to Write It Out.
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