Getting my shizzle together

Well now, look who it is! That's right, it's me. Well done.

After starting with two posts a few months ago, I slipped into laziness and stopped posting. Two is the very smallest number of events required to form a pattern of any kind, it is the very crux of the 'rule of three', the pattern that is established to be broken by the punchline's third beat, the change in direction, the payoff, the point where everything unexpectedly falls into place.

Here, however, it's a slightly different story; this was no plan. This entry is not the third act to a clever blog scenario (and let's face it, if it were it would be slightly too subtle, given that you're only the third person to read this) but instead is a moment of inspiration, the blog equivalent of enthusiastically pulling on those old running shoes one morning after months of inactivity and Christmas/Easter gluttony with the gritty resolve to just get something done, something that's actually worthwhile. So, here we are. What do I have to say?

Well, if the truth be told - and so help me, here is the one place where I may be truly truthful - not much. But what I do have to say is, I think, worth it. And it is this:

I think I'm starting to have a little faith in myself. There, I've said it. And not just that, but that that faith (two 'that's is correct, re-read it you doubter, don't interrupt, I'm on fire here) is creating an optimism that will actually turn my life around, removing the burden of guilt and responsibility that so often has caused me to falter, and fail to maintain my passion and determination to have my say, and instead to have a genuinely positive effect on the world, and in particular my family.

Typing that felt good; I will try to write something like that again. What's more I'll do it here, soon.

Such commitment. I'm so proud.

Run For Your Life

I got up at 6:45 this morning and went for a run. It was cold, the sun wasn't up, I went too far, and I regretted the whole idea when I was halfway round the route, so I had no quick route home anyway. And I forgot to take my gloves. 

But somehow, it felt good. Or more accurately, it felt right. I haven't run for a few years, but I used to run all the time; I ran in 10k races, and I even completed a couple in under 44 minutes, which for an amateur is quite respectable. But somewhere along the line, running became too hard. Or perhaps it became too easy to just not bother. And now, even though my legs ache a little, I feel like a I've got a little more energy than usual, a bit more pep when I go up the stairs, as if I have more potential energy. Not only that, but running along the cold and dark pavement, pushing past the massive urge to turn round and go back home, it was actually a substantial achievement; it's also given me a bit more resilience mentally.

Who'd have thought that would happen? Not me. Looks like those trainers were the best thing I've ever bought.

Melting Fragments

I needed a sweet snack. Okay, I didn't need a sweet snack. But I really wanted one. Much like a child in the shopping trolley says "I need this" while clutching a toy placed cleverly by the cereals just in reach of little hands, engaging the nag factor just as the supermarket has planned. I went to there to buy three essentials: bananas, milk and razors, but I also considered all the options for an indulgence, on a budget: biscuits (I'll just eat the whole lot), a chocolate/caramel combination (brief satisfaction), or something else... and there it was: 'Value' chocolate. I felt like Charley Bucket, saving his money for the perfect bar of goodness. I took it to the self service checkout and scanned it casually with the other items, making it mine. That felt good; even the laser that read the bar code probably thought 'This guy knows what he's doing. This is someone who sees the perfect sweet snack bargain, and plucks it from the tree while others foolishly plump for unnecessarily expensive and luxurious treats. What a dude'. I was confident that this very reasonably priced slice of carb would deliver absolute satisfaction. And I was right.

I went out into the cold, got on my bike, and pedalled home quickly. My gloves weren't thick enough to keep my hands completely warm, but I was spurred on by the thought of my sugary prize. I arrived home, put the bananas in the fruit bowl, the milk in the fridge, the razors in the metal shelf/cage/storage device in the bathroom for which there is no real name and which is never large enough to stop things falling out of it, and took the treat to my desk. I peeled the wrapper carefully away at one end, revealing the smooth, dark surface. I went for it, breaking off several chunks, and devouring them methodically, careful to enjoy the sweetness. And it was very sweet. I thought to myself: 'I am wise, and have chosen wisely.'

Then, the surprise: this dark chocolate breaks in a slightly different way to milk chocolate due to a lower fat content. Okay, it offers some resistance, and then snaps in a pleasingly unpredictable angle, giving chunks of chocolate with surprisingly angled edges. Very nice. But, crucially, as I looked at my fingers, I saw the dark, melting fragments that told me it was too late. Every break had produced many tiny shards of chocolate that were now scattered over the lower half of my white shirt, nesting in the creases. As I looked at the confectionery crime scene on my hands, shirt, and jeans, I was presented with a dilemma: only buy touching the fragments can I remove them, but my warm hands will melt them immediately. I am covered in a series of stain bombs that cannot be defused.

Damn. Cheap chocolate; don't buy it.