I should really be reading for book club, but the allure of a solo walk is far too great. I'm also doing a fitness step challenge through work and I need 3200 more to reach the 14k goal. It's chilly out, so a swell cup of hot tea would be a perfect silent companion. I perform the necessary, filling one of four green ceramic mugs we've had for years. It's like having an old friend with brown teeth stop by and give you warm, wet kisses. The microwave whirrrrs.
I rummaged for a pair of comfy pants that have become too big since losing weight, but it's late so I don't mind. These pants have also drug on the ground since I brought them home, so there's that. But instead of taking two seconds to cut off the bottoms like a normal person, you'll find me stuffing them into either my socks or shoes, like a savage. What I'm saying is baggy pants that balloon at the feet. My top of choice, a heathered sweatshirt that is slightly too short because it's from a hip store. I think the timer went off minutes ago. oops. No makeup; hair mostly dry. My mom always said I'd catch cold going out with a wet head, but if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna stop believing that now. A pair of walking shoes will ease the pounding pavement. Tea in hand with no lid, because my face doesn't seem to understand how those plastic shields work.
As I drift down the street, I'm alone with nothing more than billions of neurons and my drinkable escort. I stare at the ground, hoping to find answers to questions which are buried in thought, but no one is answering. I notice tonight the pants have achieved a new level of tucked and stuffed. This looks ridiculously bad, but there's no other souls who can actually view my existence. this drink is really good. My mind plays a trick when it's late and there's little movement in the streets; I feel invisible to the night corpses, even the driving ones. I'm just a whiff out the corner of their eye, nothing more. But this cloak of protection is revoked when I notice the lights of a parked car. It jerks me into feeling fashionably self-conscious, with my ballooney pants, pea coat with the missing buttons and tea vessel. I'm startled and the hot liquid spills over my hand. I shake it off, but yowch.
I continue walking the same path as I did with Travis & Leroy only hours before, away from home towards a major street. The few cars out seem desperate to get somewhere, while I want nothing of the sort. Can they see how vulnerable I feel? The tea keeps splashing over the sides, while the cold air dries it quickly. The strange texture left on my hand leads me back to when a friend of my parents said "You only spill a drink when you look at it." {squints eyes like Fry} I should stop believing that too. My gaze wears off. I see now I'm in the exact same spot as earlier, where Travis helped rid my shoe of a bloated orange gummy bear. I smile, wanting to capture that elation in my pocket for later.
As I wait for the crosswalk to change, I see two chumps across the street, sitting under the half-assed LED lights of a Taco Bell. hand says go. I walk past them and briefly assess the situation. I have a knife and a semi-warm cup of liquid; they'll get a good dose of both if they follow, so I'm good. their feet remain. I really like walking when it's quiet. As I figure out the size and shape of my writing pants, I better understand why creative people do it so often. The phrase clearing your mind resonates, but it's really taking your mind away from the business of living. The brain says cool, let's go down to the banks of the Mems-o-sippi.
This entire time I've been fighting an epic battle. On one side of the ring, the crafting narrator with a story to tell; on the other, the practical thief who knows the value of remembering daily responsibilities. The second guy sounds like a riot. how is it possible I just spilt this fucking tea again? I step check and I'm further than expected, likely because the narrator was more persuasive. Gee, I wish there was a way to record your thoughts as they go - speaking them would never do.
These walking shoes have led me towards the last few blocks of home and suddenly I feel the urgency to be there. My tea long gone, nose sniffly, and I'd like a snack. Most of all, to get this story from head to pixelated paper, as I wrote and re-wrote a hundred times over. My brain needs a carriage return.
I cross the street, when the 14,000 tick badge completes! I'm smiling, excited to remove that from thought, the green ceramic mug dangling & bouncing from my right pointer finger. ARE YOU KIDDING ME - TEA THAT WAS NOT THERE, BUT WAS TOTALLY THERE, JUST SPLASHED OUT ALL OVER MY SHOES?!?
I can't help but laugh. you win this round bandito...
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