Today is one of those days where I really feel like blogging, but I don't really have anything to say. "How is that so different from any other day?", you ask. Well well well, the internalized audience is sassy today.
So, let's ramble on.
First, allow me to comment on the 55-word blog entries. Let's do a explanatory timeline
A Couple Days Ago) Inspired by Neel, Mike writes a blog entry in 55 words, telling the story of a guy he met at the movie theater restroom. Mike leaves out the entire gay sex part in order to cram the story into 55 words.
Yesterday) Mike realizes that a better first attempt at writing a 55 word blog entry would have made fun of the fact that it's hard to tell an entire story in just 55 words without running into the limit.
Yesterday evening) Mike crafts meta-entry (not Mehta entry) again using 55 words, and deliberately leaving a sentence unfinished. Mike cackles to himself, impressed by his clever use of the form. Mike briefly considers equally clever blog entries, where he would blog about some topic for an entire year, and then "wake up" revealing that those posts had been a dream. Mike pats self on back.
Later yesterday evening) Mike gets a series of comments in his blog, confused by his entries.
Even later yesterday evening) Mike confirms that he's not crazy by having this conversation with his wife:
Me: Did you read my blog tonight?
Me: Did you read the entry where I run out of words?
Me: So, it made sense? You got the joke?
Hank: Yes. It wasn't funny, but I got the joke.
(To put things in perspective, note that Hank has a rare disease that prevents her from enjoying my humor. It's not technically fatal, but it might as well be. What's the point of living if you can't wallow in the effervescence of my humor? Poor thing.)
I hope that clears things up. The take-home point here is that I am not a good writer. More importantly, I can't construct a joke my way out of a paper bag.
On a totally unrelated note, I've signed up to be a pacer for an upcoming half marathon race. This means that I'll have a little sign on my back stating how fast I plan on running the race (e.g. an hour and a half, or maybe an hour and 45 minutes) and then it's my job to actually complete the race in that time. This allows the other runners to pace themselves against me.
I cannot tell you how stupidly excited about this I am. In every race I've ever run, I've always tried to run it as fast as I could, usually trying to set a personal record for the distance or the course. This is a wearying and increasingly difficult goal. Now, for the first time ever, my goal isn't to run as fast as I can. I still get to fixate on time, but a specific time.
I've been lying in bed, visualizing myself clocking those miles in the race, trying to stay exactly on my target pace. I've been wondering how likely it is that I can come within a few seconds of my target finish time. I've been imagining what it would feel like to nail my target pace time exactly, and how happy I'd be lying in bed that night, smiling giddily to myself like an idiot.
My heart rate is quickening right now just thinking about it.