Of late, work has been kicking me squarely in the nuts. It's been ridiculous. Granted, I'm not a rocket surgeon, but the stress level is high. I have way too much on my plate. As a result, I found myself awake at 1:15am last night in a cold sweat thinking about work. Two hours later I was still awake. By morning my gastro-intestinal state was not pretty. I have a history of gut issues, and it's not good times. I feel like I swallowed the Hindenburg. Needless to say I wasn't feeling particularly frisky today. In fact, I felt like crap. On top of that, the weather was complete ass. Rain, freezing rain, sleet and 33°. It doesn't get any nastier. Incidentally, I moped all day. However, somewhere in the back of my mind, this little voice kept telling me that I was going to run 4 miles today. After all, the schedule called for 4 miles. But between the way I was feeling and the weather, I was not listening to the little voice. Until 4:15. "F@?$# It!!! I'm going for a run!" I have no idea what happened. I went upstairs. I changed. I stretched. I scraped off the car. I drove to the bike path. I ran 4 miles. For those 34 minutes and 27 seconds, I didn't think about work. It was nice. Luckily, by the time I was running it had stopped precipitating, so it wasn't completely nasty. It was still cold, raw and damp, but I really didn't care.
In completely unrelated news, apparently Patrick Swayze has 5 weeks to live. Well, this is what was reported by the National Inquirer. That's terrible...for anyone. I hope it's not true. Either way, it reminded me that Roadhouse is one of the greatest movies of all time.
And remember, kids, don't eat the big white mint.
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