I was searching through old files today and found this narrative I had started writing in my early days in TX. If you're looking for a short, entertaining blog post - skip this one! I don't mind! It's long and wordy and a narrative. It's true, but long and boring and not really profitable.
The funny thing? At the end of this, I start to quote Diane DeFranco-Kling and then never finish writing the narrative. And I have no idea what quote of Diane's I might have been thinking about. No idea. The only clue I have is that the file is titled "Pain and Promise." Hmm... ideas?
There was no light yet when I awoke at five this morning. Noises from the kitchen registered on my ears even before I shoved my feet into my silky slippers. I emerged from my room to find Rach getting ice for her 7-Up. "I've been throwing up all night," she moaned as she returned to the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
Ter padded out of her room and fixed hot Indian tea in the wee morning hours. We sat in silence, sipping our tea from dainty, yard-sale tea cups. The moments fled too quickly and Ter left to shower.
Remembering the weather report of showers for today, I opened the door of the apartment. The air was warm and moist with a hint of a breeze. A thought lingered in my mind... "Why not?" I finally asked myself.
When I opened the door again, it was with my long-forgotten, worn-out running shoes on my feet. I carefully closed the door behind me and stepped into a light jog down the open corridor and onto the concrete driveway.
I jogged the perimeter of the apartment complex, weaving between cars and parking lots, smiling at the early morning dog-walkers, and thinking about Kansas. In Kansas, thought I, I would be running into the sunrise instead of staring at the smog. In Kansas, I would be running on a dirt road instead of killing my knees on this concrete creation. In Kansas, I would be watching the deer and the blue herons instead of dodging early-morning commuters. In Kansas, I thought...
My forehead crinkled in sudden thought. In Kansas, I woud not be enjoying a 64 degree run in t-shirt and shorts at the end of December. In Kansas, the dogs would be nipping at my heels instead of yapping from the end of their owner's leash. In Kansas, I thought as my out-of-shape lungs started to protest, my route would never circle around back to my house in less than a four mile run.
I stretched out on the grass beside my apartment building and eased my fingertips towards the tips of my running shoes. Staring at the eight inch gap between my fingers and my toes, I was reminded of Diane's words in Mime and Stage Movement
...end of story. How would you end it? :)
[Edit 9/30/10: One of my friends wrote an ending. Read it here.]