June June Way Too Soon

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Just back from a very unexpected short-notice week-long work trip to Brisbane. Am home for a couple of days and then off again on Wednesday to Adelaide. I'm tearing my hair out trying (and failing) to find some routine.

Nothing run-wise to report except the odd "shooting fish in a barrell" sporadic trot, and very unsatisfying ones at that. I've waved my training schedule a hasty and largely pointless farewell as it vanished out the window and took off into the night God-knows how long ago. I don't doubt we will meet again, but like a rebellious truant teenager I have no idea where it is or when we shall be reunited. The hounds are out there but have failed to find a scent.

Meanwhile I have a sh*t load of "stuff" (boring gack like tax) to do which demands my attention more so than the treadmill, although it still gets a short burst when the brain siezes up completely and needs disconbobulating.

My stars are seemingly not just out of alignment, but have completely thrown a bearing and jack-knifed off the highway, throwing its consignment of squawking chickens all over the road. Not a lot of order or routine you might say.

No track du jour to report, but sanity has been saved by some early Rod Stewart/Small Faces records, so I'll give 'em a mention in despatches. Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road has also been used medicinally, so thank goodnes for early-70s music. Better than Prozac, that's for sure.

Must away. Yonder beckons.

MLC Man.