“If we don’t change direction soon, we’ll end up where we’re going.”
I’ve no idea who Irwin Corey is, but his warning was in my mind as I embarked on another toughie this evening with the running club. Only 42 minutes, but the 4 and a bit miles we covered were one long, dramatic splosh through thunder and lightning, and a torrent of warm rain.
As I drove through it to meet up with the group this evening, I was sure that hardly anyone would turn up, but I was wrong. The turnout of about 30 was pretty healthy, and said something positive about this bunch.
The quote hung around my thoughts because I’m still not comfortable with the way things are going. At least I’m doing the miles, but they’re not easily won this time around. Feasting on faggots and mash, as I did yesterday evening, hardly helps, I admit, but I know I need to shed a few pounds to get that breakthrough I need. Given the weather this evening, this is a pretty awful metaphor, but it’s like waiting for the monsoon to come. Anyone who’s travelled in India or the Far East during the hot season will know that sense of tension that precedes the break in the weather, and the sense of relief and optimism that floods the world as those first few dramatic hours of rain hit.
Actually, it’s not really very much like that at all, but I’ve written it now, and that’s that. So we’re now lumbered with this muddle-headed image till the very crack o’ doom.
Crikey. Sorry about that.
