Once upon a time, while living in Connecticut growing up, I went for a run, which I routinely did, traveling miles and miles at a time. This particular day, I left ignoring some rumblies in my tumblie (all runners will know this is not the right thing to do). I got about 3/4 of a mile before my teenage self got the message. At which point it was an emergency that I be home, right then. Also about this time, a rather portly old man in an old car was coming out of his driveway and turning down the hill, towards my house. The sort of guy who doesn’t look like he runs up hills for fun very often, but very nice man none the less. I know you don’t get into cars with strangers, but this was an emergency. I asked for a ride to the library, which was right down the street from my house, and was granted it. Upon asking how I got to where I was, I responded “I ran up the hill” to which he responded, quite seriously, “Some days, you just try to do too much.”
If I hadn’t had an emergency of rumblie tumblie, I would have died laughing. I think this every time things that I don’t think should be a big deal totally destroy me. I’m not quite there yet, but have spent the week checking off the rather tedious things on my list so it now looks more like this:
With pretty much the remainder of things left on the schedule for this weekend, I think tonight, I’ve got a date with a good beer and my spinning wheel.