The rain on the roof this morning meant no 7 mile run (yes, I realize it’s completely ridunk-a-dunk that I have no qualms about heading out in 5° F snow, but can’t bear the thought of getting wet), so instead I hopped out of bed for a morning to catch up on my strengthening PT exercises. The thing about moving quietly and repetitively in your room is that there’s plenty of time and silence to think. So I thought about Red Hen’s lovely limerick (itself a riff on Lengthorn’s triolet) and her challenge for a haiku:pitter patter pat uncooperative skies hills remain unrun
But strengthening exercises don’t take as long as my 7 miles would have, so I was left with some leftover time.
So I contemplated my ‘too freakin’ much’ bag, cracked open the sewing machine, and had at it:
Somehow, I was still ahead of schedule. So I relieved the Mister of his sandwich-making duties, and was then confronted with the size of the sandwich vs. size of the baggie conundrum.
Why don’t the bread people and the baggie people just get along?
It’s not even 8:30am, and already I’m all thought out for the day…