I love to walk on the track at night.

I like the darkness, and the privacy, and the fact that nobody can see me in my shorts. I love matching my steps to the rhythm of whatever song is playing on the tiny clothespin Mp3 player clipped to my collar. This means I change my pace all the time which I’m sure looks goofy but who can see that in the dark?

I think about books I’ve read or want to read, and movies I’ve seen or want to see. I put myself inside books and movies I’ve seen and loved, and in my head, everything has a happy ending.

I think about the people in my life, and how much I love and appreciate most of them, and how I wonder why lightning hasn’t struck some of them dead.

Tonight, the moon was full and the air smelled like freshly mown honeysuckle. I associate the smell of honeysuckle with walking on the track, in fact.

I need to get different earphones; the ones I used tonight were made for someone with ears like bat wings.

Four laps equals one mile on the high school track. Tonight I did a mile and a half and might have done more but I made the mistake of stopping, and this messed me up. As long as I keep going, I can keep going, but once I stop, I’m done.

I don’t like to wear sneakers. They make my feet feel huge and heavy. I’m a sandals and loafers kind of gal. Better still are the bare feet, but only in my own house. Other people’s homes deserve more consideration than that.

I’m not the kind of person who requires people to remove their shoes before entering my house, however. In MY house, people are welcome, not considered soilers of my sacred carpets.

I feel contented tonight. Conversation and walking on the track and music. Nice. If YOU had been there, it would have been perfect!

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly