Saturday, May 14, 2011

Running, running, running.

As I write this I sit and stare at one of the half dozen tanks we have in our house. My husband is a direct descendant of Noah, I am sure. This particular tank has three residents. Two mice and a thing my husband calls a slink. It looks like a snake with legs. The slink thing is significantly smaller than the mice, currently, hence their ability to cohabitate. Not sure what will happen when it grows other than perhaps a show? At any rate there are two little wheels set up in the tank and it is quite enjoyable to sit and watch the mice and slink, in various combinations, run on them. A particular favorite is when the slink hangs on to the outside of one of the wheels while the mice run on it sending it whirling around.
There is this urgency though, when the things run. It's like they are honestly trying to get somewhere. If only they could get the blasted wheel to go fast enough so the cage would take off like a shuttle. And take them back where? The pet store? The ranch?
As I watched them I realized I feel like that most days. Like I'm constantly going, going, going. And. For what? The work at work will still be there whether I do it faster or not. The chores at home don't tend to decrease when I go faster, if anything, they increase because I end up stumbling and spilling something. It's like I woke up and realized I was in mile three of a twenty-some-odd mile marathon but I didn't want to be. Or. I had accidently wandered into the "sprint" section of the race. When, quite frankly, the stroll and admire the scenery section would be very nice indeed. What's the point of running if some axe-murdering psycho isn't after me?
So. I go to my new favorite blog, A Holy Experience, and I start to learn the art of slowing down.

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