Coping

I'm coping. I am. So far this week I have only bitten off the heads of three people, one of whom really deserved it.
I finished Blink and a compilation of Essays by David Foster Wallace. (He's funny without knowing it.) I tried to get through the Dalai Lama's book, but failed, too many cumulus clouds to watch drift from horizon to horizon.
It's been warm in the city, mid-fifties most days, with the threats of rain disappearing having the same impact as terrorist warnings, a drizzle here and there, then clear skies and clarity of mind.
I've been hitting the gym and running and trotting and slogging and trying not to eat the scones at Starbucks. Somehow, with all the beach miles, I packed on an additional six pounds during the trip, four of them are gone now, but it was shocking to see the big upswing in the Weight Commander graph. (Weight Commander is written especially for numbers and chart freaks like me. Lots of whoopie do rising and falling slopers and trend lines, also a place I can put references like 1/9 W/STs 18:00 <1.1m There is also 1/8 T/FB/R 26:45 4.8 2.o. Treadmill on Fat Burn and Random at a average speed of of 4.8mph for two miles taking --god this is fascinating stuff-- 26 minutes of prime gym time.
My favorite is R/CP (Running in Central Park.)
Watching the sunrise here it seems to me to be some other sun, a different one than that that swims dreamily up through the Gulf coast fog, boggieboarding it's way to our campsite, lighting up our bookpages and draining the tensions in our lives away.

There we are.

If you are coming out bring some Diet Cokes and see if there are any of those Christmas cookies left.

I am coping. I am.