There's Something Very Wrong With Me

It’s nice to have somewhere to go. If you’re going to run 15 miles, which you shouldn’t, I can assure you, it’s at least nice to have a destination. Even if it’s seven and a half miles away, and you turn around as soon as you get there. Or just before you get there, because the tow path you’d been following along the river suddenly disappears and you can’t find the right road. That can happen. But I’ll still say I made it to Abingdon. And back. And it was beautiful. The path past Sandford Lock nearly empty, despite the sunshine. Just me and my music and thoughts. There’s something gloriously fulfilling about pushing yourself almost too far. More alive, even in your suffering. Or because of your suffering. Something like that. But as I flew along the shore of the Thames, I was loving it. And I couldn’t help but think to myself what should have been farthest from my mind.

My God, but this feels good.

I Wanna Grow Old With You

There’s a beyond lovely elderly couple here at the cafe. The gentleman waiting on his wife, having trouble ordering at the cafe. Gently smiling at her as she requests a self-serve item. And they carry their drinks back to the table, where he has the crossword out, and she contentedly sits, eating the froth of her cappuccino with a spoon and leaning over his shoulder to help with the puzzle. A lovely day out at the Magic Cafe. Someday I want my life to be like that. And she leans over to me and says ‘You believe in work, do you?’ No miss. I’m writing for fun. I’m writing because I like to.

I’m writing about you.