I just got back from running figure eights in front of my house. I completed three and a half, then saw a car turning onto the other end of my street and sprinted back into the house.
"What the hell?" you ask.
I respond with a dismissive shrug.
Lately my mood bounces between woeful with longing for things I don't have, to giddy for things I've had and future possibilities. Sometimes these moods meet in the middle. And sometimes that makes me skip out the front door.
Warm summer nights are intoxicating. The feeling of welcome in the air harkens back to strangers with glowing frisbees and related ridiculocity. Where does it go?
Sometimes I am wild and untamable. Sometimes I am resigned and feeble.
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