I've taken to waking up at 5:30 in the morning to get a head start on my day. Truth be told, I never thought I would take that challenge on until I was in my mid-60s (don't most folks in their mid-60's wake up before 6am?). Thing is, it ends up that I really needed a few extra minutes to my day to get my thoughts together, so here I am. In my early- to mid-30's. With a toddler who loves sleeping in until 6:45/7. Making coffee at 5:30.
Pretty awesome.
I have approximately 6 more months until this Master's degree thing is officially over. I go between thinking there's no possible way I can complete it to moments of academic high in which I'm basically kicking the program's ass while making it plead for mercy.
This back and forth business can make a gal crazy.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
lumbering up a slope
... I climbed toward the rock without resting, and when I finally got there I picked another landmark and started all over again.
I climbed that way for hours, focusing my attention completely on some target- a rock, a shadow, an unusual ruffle in the snow- until the distance to that target became all that mattered in the world. The only sounds were my own heavy breathing and the rhythmic crunch of my shoes in the snow. My pace would soon become automatic, and I slipped into a trance. Somewhere in my mind I still longed for my father, I still suffered from fatigue, I still worried that our mission was doomed, but now those thoughts seemed muted and secondary, like a voice on a radio playing in another room. Step-push, step-push. Nothing else mattered. Sometimes I promised myself I'd rest when the next goal was reached, but I never kept my promise. Time melted away, distanced dwindled, the snow seemed to glide beneath my feet. I was a locomotive lumbering up the slope. I was lunacy in slow motion....
- Nando Parrado
I climbed that way for hours, focusing my attention completely on some target- a rock, a shadow, an unusual ruffle in the snow- until the distance to that target became all that mattered in the world. The only sounds were my own heavy breathing and the rhythmic crunch of my shoes in the snow. My pace would soon become automatic, and I slipped into a trance. Somewhere in my mind I still longed for my father, I still suffered from fatigue, I still worried that our mission was doomed, but now those thoughts seemed muted and secondary, like a voice on a radio playing in another room. Step-push, step-push. Nothing else mattered. Sometimes I promised myself I'd rest when the next goal was reached, but I never kept my promise. Time melted away, distanced dwindled, the snow seemed to glide beneath my feet. I was a locomotive lumbering up the slope. I was lunacy in slow motion....
- Nando Parrado
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