Some days it leans heavily toward masochism. Okay, right there’s a perfect example. I’ll spend the next twenty minutes fretting over whether I should use ‘toward’ (singular) or ‘towards’ (plural). I’ll check a couple dictionaries, google it, consult Grammar Girl and Woe is I, then change it from toward to towards to toward to towards to toward and back and forth and round and round. By then I’ll be dizzy and need a nap.
This concerns me. It isn’t normal behavior; it crosses the line into crazy. Am I a masochist, is that possible? I worry, you know? Back in the day, I hated doing this kind of stuff. We called it homework then and I avoided it like a dark alley. It led nowhere good. What troubles me now is that these aren’t assignments. Oh, no. I’m not being graded, I’m not being paid, I’m not at gunpoint. I’m doing this voluntarily. What’s wrong with me?
I can almost justify sitting and staring at a blinking cursor all winter long, but this is a lovely June morning. There’s no excuse. Yet, here I am. Crazier still, there you are. (Thank you, by the way.) Should I be seeking professional help? Probably, but not today. Today I’m going outside, I’m jumping on my bike and pedaling away.
I’ve no destination in mind, there’s no place I have to be; I am at loose ends. How exciting is that? Adventure awaits. If I’m really lucky my wanderings will lead to a little quiet bliss and a steaming cup of coffee, not the Emergency Room. Here’s hoping.
Thought for the day:
“I hate writing. I love having written.”
— Dorothy Parker
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