where you go, where you’ve been

I've always been afraid that I have a case of arrested development.  That I write because I am just a little girl who thinks she is a poet. 

This is probably why I shy away from Poe.  Twelve year old, melancholy girls love Poe.  Not I.  But here I am, blogging about boys who don't want me and the random thoughts that jump in the back of the mind. 

In the morning, I will run.  I will fill these lungs with wind and acid.  I will tear tiny fractures in my muscles.  my heart will pound out of my chest and I will be a girl no longer, but a woman again.

There is a moment when you run that clears your whole head.  You are filled with these great endorphins and float thru it all.  I love to run in the city, in any city.  I moved to the city mostly for the running, I think.  I belong to the secret society.  People who are willing to suffer in plain sight for vanity, or lust, or addiction, or pride.

When I do speed work, I like to pretend I am running away.  From parents, or work, or clients, or problems, or myself.  This is the only time when heartache feels good.

I wonder if this is intensifying emotional heartache, though.  Things that shouldn't sting ache lately.  They call for action.

 I joined a kickball team.  First game is tomorrow.  I'll post the play by play…

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Filed under Musings, running, writing

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