A time to rest and think

The track season is finally over.  I have a jumble of mixed feelings ranging from sadness over not seeing that bunch of cool guys anymore to happiness at not having to struggle along on hard runs behind those cool guys anymore.  We’ll see which side of the spectrum wins out eventually but for now, I’m happy to just hang out, nap, watch good television and chill with friends instead of running myself silly.  A break will be good and I’m excited to be able to plan things with people at 4:00 in the afternoon again.

I also picked up an old story that I haven’t really touched in a few months.  I wrote just a little bit of it and then left it, partially because winter break was here and all I wanted to do was sleep, eat, and watch BSG, but it was also partially because writing is just a little bit easier for me when I can do it in my mind.  That story, a tale about a land called Other, has been sitting on the bench in the back of my head, just waiting for me to notice it.  Well, today I finally did.  It’s pretty rough and there is a lot of reorganizing and reshaping that should happen before I start writing new stuff, but it feels good to be back there.  I had forgotten how much I enjoyed those characters and that setting and it was nice to be in Other again.

On a totally unrelated note, Dollhouse was excellent this past week.  I am planning on doing a longer post about it tomorrow but suffice it to say for now, Alan Tudyk is my hero.  Thank you Joss for bringing him back to us.

Footprints

I went for a run today.  It was extremely cold outside and the air felt like ice in my lungs.  As I finished I took a short walk up the street to cool down, which I did rather quickly due to the snow and ice and cold and wintery death.  I realized that whenever I walk alone, my eyes tend to drift down toward the ground and remain there almost constantly.  I’m not sure if that is just because I like looking at the ground since that is often the location of bugs and falen leaves or if it has something to do with confidence.  Either way, I happened to be looking down and I noticed footprints buried in the snow with layers of ice insulating them.  I strayed from the dry path and began following the footprints, carefully filling every indent with my size 9.5 running shoes.  Someone had walked that path not that long before I came along and the only thing he or she left was these foot shaped holes.  I began to picture this person in my mind, first a boy and then a girl, my imagination flickering between as many possible foot owners as it could hold.  My foot fit into those prints like they were my own and as I hopped out of them and headed home I looked back and wondered if anyone would come along and step into my footsteps and think about who I am.