2001-12-11 - 11:51 a.m.

A brief update:

I finished Nanowrimo. No, I don't know what I'm going to do with it. Isn't it enough that I finished? Give me a break already. Although I now find that the whole project has affected my writing style. I'm much more likely to put spaces in between compound words, and to spell out numbers in order to increase my word count. Quantity, not quality, baby.

The rooster is still across the street from Breed Hardware. And David has reported seeing one in Austin town as well. We think they're gradually taking over the city.

I hung with the Austin journal crowd, or a small subset thereof, and assorted others. There was beer. Also, darts. I am, surprisingly, not bad at darts. And of course, being the crowd that we were, the event was documented.

I brought my car to the shop last week. I brought it in because of the uncontrollable shaking that occurred when I went over 55 mph. That shaking? That was my car falling apart. I needed new shocks and tires. I told my mechanic to fix it, one of those split second decisions, which I almost regretted as soon as I hung up the phone. And it triggered what my sister calls my usual existential angst (why am I in Austin? why I am working this job I don't like? why am I scared of getting a new car? does any of this make me happy? what makes all of this worthwhile to anybody?). Luckily, I was on my bicycle, and through sheer necessity, biked all the way home (from my mechanic at Manchaca and Ben White, to 503 Coffee Bar, to the downtown library, to 29th Street), through traffic, feeling like a badass the entire way. And really scared. But also, like a badass, which lessened my existential angst somewhat.

I ran 13.5 miles on Saturday morning, with my running group. It had rained, and was raining, and the ground was soft and uneven. The first four miles were hard, and by mile eight, the wind had picked up and the rain was coming down harder, and I was cold again. By mile ten, I felt better, and could almost understand why it is that I get up ridiculously early on Saturday mornings to run long distances. The last mile was rough, and I focused on the steps of the man running next to me, bright orange cap on his head, and the incessant pounding of our feet, as we unconsciously ran in unison. When we passed the City Coliseum, there was a line of people standing outside, hundreds of them, huddled under umbrellas. I pointed them out to my unintentional running partner.

"I know we look crazy, but they look even crazier," I said.

Later, as I was driving home, I drove past the Coliseum, and read the sign out front: "Coats for Kids."

And I laughed at myself, and my aching muscles, and my drenched shirt, and I thought that it is amazing what people who are well fed and well clothed and well housed do in order to challenge themselves.

I would like to send out nondenominational holiday cards this year. Ideally, each card will be an individual work of art, lovingly handcrafted by yours truly. In actuality, I'll probably just send out the cards I bought three years ago, heavily discounted post Christmas, that are still sitting in a drawer somewhere (and which I have dutifully moved six times). But if you'd like one, please email me your address.

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