Running. The Survivor.

~ Live & Learn

rain_drops_at_night-wide

It’s Monday morning. 8:00 am. I’m waiting out the rain.

It’s Tuesday morning. I’m noodling on why I waited to write this post. I broke the chain: Run. Write the post. Nap.

Life and order. Life, and of course, order.

Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotch-potch of impulses, our perpetual miracle—for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death: let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life; and, of course, order.

—Virginia Woolf

Back to Monday.

The rain doesn’t let up.

Mom now has Dad’s cold.  Zeke is stuck with Dad for his morning walk. The morning routine is turned upside down. He glares at me: “Where’s Mom?” He hears the rain popping on the car hood.  He snarls.

Life and order. Life, and of course, order.

We arrive at Mianus River Park. Hail size drops are splashing on the windshield.  I notice there isn’t a single car in the parking lot.  My spirits climb.  Rain be damned.

Survivor.

Netflix reported a surge in “binge” watchers – – “viewers devouring shows in lengthy chunks, episode after episode.”  47% of viewers finish an entire TV season in a week – 16% in one weekend. I finished the Out of The Wild Venezuela series in 1 day.  In 1 day.

Our hotchpotch of impulses.

I look out into the woods through the windshield. Wipers are flapping. I could do it.  The Venezuela Challenge.  Eat wasp larvae. Catch fish with improvised rods. Bite the heads of termites for protein.

Let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says.

I shiver.  I turn up the heat. Rain is pounding on the hood.  Zeke’s eyes are on me: What kind of bullsh*t is this?  He’s hunkered down flat on the back seat, gripping the leather with his claws.

We sit. And wait. And wait. And wait.

I look back at Zeke.  He whimpers.  He can feel the restlessness of the calculations of the go/no go decision. He can sense we’re at a pivot point.

Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, for the soul throws up wonders every second. 

I back the car up to head home.

The Survivor will run on the elliptical later.

25 thoughts on “Running. The Survivor.”

  1. Good decision…and though I have no doubt you could bite the heads off of termites for protein (a good bit of trivia in the event one is ever stuck in some uninhabited region of Venezuela), a bowl of oatmeal or a bagel sounds far more appealing.

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  4. “Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, for the soul throws up wonders every second.

    I back the car up to head home.”

    Lol!! So funny, David…but I wouldn’t be simmering long before making that decision either.

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  9. Probably a good decision. You didn’t slip on the wet grass or pavement. You didn’t get soaked and catch Dengue fever. You didn’t have to put all your clothes into the dryer when you got home.

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  11. This is a great post for Christmas morning. I think its ok to allow ourselves flexibility in maintaining our order. Merry Christmas, David, I hope all in the Kanigan house are 100% soon!

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  12. I am no fan of the rain myself, nor the winds, combined they arrive every few days to spread carnage in Colchester and its environs.

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