How did I keep up a daily blog for two years?? I mean, I know how I did it: I got into the habit and made it a priority to write SOMETHING even if I didn't feel inspired or that anything interesting happened to me that day. But what I mean is, I've MEANT to blog a couple of times over the last two weeks, and I haven't done it. I even started writing two posts, and abandoned them halfway through. So weird.
Anyhoo, I'm at the cabin now and my hands are ice cold. I knew that today was going to be cold--the first freezing day of the fall--but I wanted to be here. I have chapters to edit (I recorded all of Abbie's third story and two pathetic chapters of my own) and find I can focus here better than anywhere in the world. But man, it was cold--mostly due to an incessant freezing wind that keeps blowing around the windows and roof.
I stupidly forced myself to get up and drive over to the dam so I could do my run and check my email, arriving just as the sun's last light was fading in the distance. No one else was around--perhaps anywhere.
I started my run, but immediately my hands were so cold that I turned around and sloshed back through the mud to my car to remove my gloves. I had assumed that the physical exertion would keep me warm, but I ended up needing to throw my winter coat on too. The run across the dam was the worst it's been this whole year, and I had to stop halfway there to gasp and try and get my coat closed up (the zipper is broken, something that happened in March or April, but I'd forgotten about). And I considered--very strongly--just turning around and going back to the car, marking today as the first day I've ever not made it all the way across the dam.
But I collected myself, put on an old 38 Special song (Caught Up In You), and started running again. And as I did, I realized that I couldn't see the end of the dam. A fog had materialized, not particularly thick, but thick enough I could no longer see the lake beside me or my car behind me. It was rather cinematic, and I'd like to incorporate it into a story. I ran to the end of the dam, rested for a minute, then ran all the way back. I took my gloves off to check my messages, then headed to the car, starting the engine and backing up . . . only to discover I only had a single glove. Had I . . . Where was it? It was dark now, and I was cold and muddy and miserable, but I needed to go back and look for my glove. That too seemed like the kind of thing you could use in a story. Luckily, it was right there where I had stopped and typed a text to my niece about Saturday's eclipse, and I scooped it up, then ran back to track mud into the car and get back to the cabin and the fire I'd built there.
But I think there's something there. The fog springing up (which I had never experienced before) and the dropping of the glove, and having to go back into it. I dunno.
P.S. One last thing. I was reading something on the internet today, written a few years ago, and I came across a throwaway mention of Snooki. And as Howdy Doody used to put it, I cursed with a sore cursing. It makes me both furious and disgusted that I know who that is. But it bummed me out to be reminded. And now I've reminded you. Sorry.
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