Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Maybe it will rain today, and I would like that. I would hide away, on the couch, with a book, coming to this computer only when the corporate interviews called, the work emails pinged in. I would not say to myself, Beth. Get up. Exercise. Beth. Get up. Take a walk. Beth. Get up. Get ahead of all on which you are behind.
If it doesn't rain, I won't be easy on myself. I will spend too much time at this computer, worrying slightly over what to write next. I will hunt for the emails I never answered. (I am sorry; there are so many; I forget.) I will get up and I will walk, south, a mile or so, to the old stone church and the cemetery of trees and ruin, where just this past Sunday I went, checking the door on the chapel and finding it open and entering, in trespass, the suburban outlaw in me sitting alone in the pews and clicking the camera, just once.
Maybe it will rain.