Walking Infirmary.

I have a nasty lingering cough from a cold I caught around the start of the month. Of course, I smoke. Smoking, walking, and cold, rainy weather are not doing me any favors, as they are a motley crew of a combination; pernicious, counteractive to wellness (despite all these things separately having advantages), the worst of bedfellows. Because of this, in the last couple of weeks, I've only managed two or three 1+ mile walks. This is much reduced from last month's 15+ a week.

If I were to feign, to deign myself to at least a moderate sense of that which is supposedly common, I'd admit that I'm being a dumbass. I don't have to smoke. I own a fucking umbrella, and I have public transportation readily available to me. And I think to myself: The weather is craptastic, Patrick, ride the fucking bus! At least there you can read a book and if you're really lucky-- you'll be engaged in musical debates with drunken homeless types (Morris Day is not fucking dead: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morris_Day). But most importantly, you do own a fucking umbrella! Use it next time! What are you, thick?

On Thursday I felt well enough and the rain had abated itself long enough to facilitate the 3 mile jog to work. I really dig walking west along Live Oak toward downtown, especially passing the lofts and Exall Park, which has an awesomely accomodating (because of the muddy grass) sidewalk that snakes along the road. It's not as impressive as my wording might suggest, but what do you expect when the desire path is all mudded up?

Sometimes when you walk distances, you cross paths with people who, with just one nod of recognition, you know that they've been tracking an equal (if not longer) distance. You laugh to yourself and wonder if said people will tread the exact same path as you and alternately, if you'll walk theirs.