Sometimes I am tired of feeling blind.
This theme has continuously flashed onto me sporadically throughout my life. And it confuses me in the following form: how long has it been since I've been unable to see my memories? This state of fraught for my memory, if you can imagine, is like writing on a page and finding it again, only to see that it has been scribbled over. I am awake when I run. I recall several memories and can feel happiness above tiredness. But this deplorable reality in which many of us live in creates a vision field of wearisome, and I suppose that is why when I don't run, my memories dilute. The sad thing is that I reinforce this blindness by participating in stringent activities. At this moment, it's difficult for me to contend in a game of diatribes with my own fears and anxieties to be free from being a multiple of this culture.
It is inevitable. And I suppose my current condition could be of some angled help. Only by participating in this culture could I ever understand how I, and others, reinforce the status quo.
Today I ran 14 miles in 1:44:30 with a crummy right ankle.
With temporary admittance,
me
