Writer Me, who is infinitely more likely than others to take
on a snooty tone—bossy, condescending, it varies—suggests to Runner Me that now
might be a good time to go ‘Do whatever it is exactly that you do.’ Alternately
encouraged and ashamed, Runner Me laces up and heads out. It’s a fine evening,
other than the slightly increasing rain, the humidity, the oncoming darkness…
“Really not such a great time for a run, is it?”
Self-Reflective Me asks, appearing out of nowhere and mirroring the easy pace
of Runner Me.
“Yeah, well, it’s not so bad,” flips back Runner Me, then
shrugs. “It’s sort of my thing, anyway.”
“Sure, I get that.”
They jog on in the dark, the rain never pausing to
reconsider.
After a time, Self-Reflective Me asks, “So, why now? In the
dark, the rain? Does it occur to you to wonder this?”
“In fact, it does not,” Runner Me answers simply, giving a
headshake of sweaty nonchalance.
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