Chasing the Race

Before running off for the retreat (gotta love that icon), I have a few household items to address.

Visit Mocha Girl Reads. The young woman behind this new Los Angeles based book club is doing a phenomenal job. Participation is increasing, and the club is just going on book #2! Here's my review on the first book, The Strawberry Letter, by Shirley Strawberry.

I also must thank one of my book blog social friends for tipping me off to read 'How Do Rumors Get Started'– the True Story of Timex Social Club. I absolutely adore this book. So simple, straightforward, and so sincere, making for one soul-stirring embracing read. I can't wait to collect my thoughts and write a review.

And finally, though hardly least of least, this post was instigated by none other than me, haphazardly writing the tail end of a thought, thinking it would slip everyone's mind like it did mine. It didn't, which now credit goes to another blog friend holding me to my word. So thanks Dee. I needed this nudge, though please don't blink. Being on the chase has caught me, at times, writing reckless.

Things I've given up working on...

...striving to be understood. And I know, isn't this what I'm doing here? And no, it isn't. Like I said, I haphazardly wrote off the tail end of a thought, and so now here we are... at the front end of that thought.

...Exactly why I'm sweeping worry under a rug too. And let's face it. We all will be concerned about one thing or the other. I'm just taking worry off the list. Yep, forget the dustpan. Worry is now shivering under a rug.

And I don't know what in the world I was doing trying to work on upping my spontaneity. Did I skip right by its definition? Welp, move over worry, here comes spontaneity.

Oh, here's one. 'Getting it.' Heard of this one? It's words that fly over the top of your head. True story. A while back I was with a group of friends who were laughing about a dust ball rolling along the floor. And no, we weren't drinking. I just didn't get it, but had frequently (later) concerned myself with trying catch these types of euphemisms. Well, that's it. Finally decided if this is where my wit slumps, and I get diagnosed odd, it can't be any worse than this dust ball laughing disorder.

Kicked this one out of the house, too. Exercise. Though I am a little curious to find that one unique infomercial advertising a 40+ year-old woman, with children... the more the better, hopping up on one of those machines weighing no less than 150lbs, and right before my eyes, directly on screen, roll back at least one decade and shave off a dozen digits on the scale. Otherwise, I'm staying with my own stress-free circulation rubric. I just refuse to exercise for the hell of it.

But this is the charmer I let run on ahead. Want. No longer will I be chasing after want. In case you haven't heard, from afar want appears grand and aggrandizing, but look closer, and only if you can. Want rhymes with temptation. Is a close associate of lust. And does not get along with appreciation, or loyalty, and neither reason. I'm saying this is one disguised monster. It will yank your credit score, well beyond the wrong zeros. Borrow and never return your joy. Walk all over your merit, and camp out in your spirit without a tent. I'm much better off enjoying what I have, and making the most of what I don't have.