Monk Quixote

I didn’t get enough out of today. Not enough sleep. Not enough action. Not enough food. Fell some­where between a snow day, a work day and an angst mountain.

Listy was very excited about the snow. And I had a snow­ball fight and helped build a snow­man before 10am. But… but… I didn’t feel the excite­ment I should have. I don’t think I’ve seen snow like it since my child­hood, but all I could see today were prob­lems. Work pil­ing up. Unwise dri­vers. Men grin­ning into mobiles as they pro­claimed their var­i­ous travel woes. Women in absurd heels in snow over their ankles. My mum on Skype. Kidding.

Lots of peo­ple tak­ing pho­tographs. Quite a few peo­ple round these parts took the trou­ble to do pho­to­genic things. A younger me would feel punk rock and flash mob and quite pos­si­bly teriyaki sauce. But instead, I pushed a car and deliv­ered some chil­dren where they were meant to go and didn’t oblige the 5 year old who said that snow­balls don’t count unless they hit you in the face. Or maybe I can’t throw like I used to.

I guess I’m impa­tient for change. The weight I’ve put on since Octo­ber isn’t shift­ing in the way it should. Day job is past its sell by date. Free­lance work is hard — the paid stuff at the moment is a lit­tle more com­pli­cated than I’d hoped, and the free stuff is really inter­est­ing and fun, but… well, free. But at least I have work, and unlike my brother abroad I am paid on time.

Diet and other changes are, well, dull — as they’re sup­posed to be. I haven’t writ­ten any­thing mean­ing­ful for a month now — and the year started so promis­ingly. I don’t know where the time goes. Lit­er­ally. And there’s a pun in there somewhere.

I’m run­ning more than usual, but in smaller chunks and inside — so it barely feels like run­ning at all. I was cross today so I started off at 9:40 and ended up at 7:03, aver­ag­ing some­where around 7:50. I’m a big unit to shift at that speed — 106kg — I’m always a lit­tle fear­ful the treadie will have a fit or some­thing. I tend to move the belt all the way over to the left with the way I run as it is. One of my many faults when I’m out run­ning with List is to cri­tique the style of oth­ers — and I know I run wrong on the treadie. I’m all Lam­pard on the rub­ber. Thumbs up and doing the footie jog­ger stance. Ho hum.

Maybe tomor­row will be a hap­pier place. Don’t get me wrong — I appre­ci­ate there’s noth­ing really wrong in my life, I just try to use the half empty space in the glass to spur me on. It works some­times. I mean — it’s a half-empty space — any num­ber of uni­verses could be hid­ing in there…

But not today. An odd day. Frustrating.

Today, like the tube, I was mostly part suspended.

PS And I can’t leave ‘part sus­pended’ with­out men­tion­ing Boo Radleys ‘I hang sus­pended’. From your smile. So true.