I’m leading a strange existence right now. I am kept busy with little things that never seem to go away. When I have time I write. That is what I have been doing this morning, and well, though I am never really one to judge. I have sat down and the words came relatively easily again and an old story I have tinkered with for months is drastically revised, whole paragraphs excised and new ones written in their place. The language is toughened up, the particularities more minutely observed. I feel happier because it feels more like mine.
I will hopefully write further this afternoon, though perhaps on another story. The way things are progressing I can hope perhaps to have them finished by the end of the month. There will always be tinkering. Being a writer is a bit like being a revhead with a favourite car – always under the bonnet trying to get a bit more out of it.
This afternoon I have my first session with a new personal trainer down the road. I don’t want to get old. I want to be fit again and young. Vanity drives me – but so too does health.
Some years ago I had a personal trainer. He was young and very motivated. I was older but full of juice still – nothing was beyond me. When he said one more and I did one more on the back of a dozen before, then another and another at his urging I pushed myself, unwilling to concede defeat. And I remained undefeated. The next morning I woke and could not get out of bed. I had strained my abs so badly that I could hardly move. In the end I had to roll out of bed. That was the end of that personal trainer – I think he died of embarassment.
This time I hope for something less painful.
On the weekend I bought a bike also. I am riding this Saturday, albeit to an indulgent breakfast of waffles at the BBC. All this is to forestall time. And it might be fun besides.