She is tiny, six weeks old, and Steve has named her Tupac. Here’s hoping that doesn’t stick.
Despite my totally logical assurances that I am not going to get my hopes up, not going to make race plans, not going to get on a training plan until I know my foot isn’t going to stop me as soon as I get rolling, still I started making plans. This is how I make race plans: I scribble down every race I could possibly want to do on a piece of paper and then I start crossing things out. I haven’t gotten to the crossing out part yet on this list.
I have another sheet covered in potential writing fellowships I should totally apply for, because if I can’t make it to any of the races I hope to make it to at least I won’t feel like on a bum while on a writing residency in Dublin!
Of course, to get those fellowships you have to write stuff (just like to make it to races, you sort of have to train), but I’m all unfocused, so what did I do instead of fleshing out the movie script I have in my head or work on my book proposal? Looked at pictures of kittens that need foster/adopting.
See, don’t you feel better now?