Between the killer heat wave and the return of the gray fog(especially on the magical side of the bridge), the dog days of chilling and reading, and the complete lack of single, straight male company, I’m ready to go back to work. I love the summer with its temps and time stretching out like an expansive field. But it’s no spring.
Lest you think I’m sitting around moping like Virginia Woolf in The Hours, I’m happy to report that I’m running more than I did back in high school PE. Exercise has kept me balanced. It has reminded me that, ultimately, we answer to ourselves(and our Creator) at the end of the day. Within the rhythm of the run or the simplicity in sets of repetitions, I am merely muscles and lungs. Sometimes I’ll think of Jesus or Bible verses especially if my weak spots(left hip, insteps) hurt or I develop a stitch in my side. Otherwise, my mind is a peaceful blank, attuned only to the sound of my feet on pavement or the thumping of my heartbeat. I see now why mystics hike up mountains or cross deserts.
Still, I have to admit I still peruse, hoping against all common sense, Craigslist personals. I’m elated a friend’s boyfriend is looking out for me. I’m dismayed at one of my friend’s inability to leave the self-help section of the bookstore. I would love to meet cute with that elusive man. Hence, the sighs for a springtime. In the meantime, I’ll keep breathing.