I'll go to the care home in about an hour and a half or so. I'm hoping to use 30 of those minutes to run on the treadmill downstairs because I've managed to keep up a streak of walking that began in Kalamazoo that first night.
I have work to do today with two products I have to get out the door. One is a story for C-Ville Weekly and I just need about an hour or so to get through it. I know what it's going to say. Doing a 550-word story twice a week creates a routine, and when you do a routine you find ways to always hit the post.
I also have to produce an audio version of the newsletter for WTJU that will air tomorrow. This will be an archive version and the 20 minutes between the end of this post and the beginning of the run shall be spent selecting what pieces I will use. I'm thinking of doing economic development stories because that will fit well with the theme of the C-Ville Weekly story.
There is part of me that is thinking about a new life somewhere and this is a healthy thought to have. However, I am also aware that I make my living knowing about the community in a way that helps me make a living. I work as hard as I do because I want that independence. I want to continue to see where this voice takes me. I want to continue trying to become a better person, even though the largest voice in my head is that of a person almost entirely opposite of me.
But today I can't put any energy into the thought of moving because I am counting down the hours until I am home. In three days time the train will be pulling out of Union Station in D.C. having had the engines switched for the non-wired tracks in Virginia. Between now and then a lot of things might happen, or they might not.
I do know that on Sunday I'll be able to work all day. Or at least, that's the plan. I am not behind because I knew I would slow down this week. I was able to get out one newsletter, but it was not a very good one but at least I was able to put something together to keep up appearances.
I am not sure who I am or why I do this. This lack of self is likely due to being around two people at the end of their life, two people who have never really had much of an interest in who I am. They wanted to know what I could provide for them. And here I am, doing the best I can to make sure they can spend as much time as possible together. Perhaps I just see where that story goes before I go on bloviating about mine.
Comments