Went for another run in a park in London today. That’s all I would like to say about that.
In other news: In an effort to keep chipping away at the book I am writing, today I opened it, began reading what I had written yesterday and, as the worlds most self-aware person, spent an hour and a half editing instead of writing. This is the equivalent of primping for hours to go out because Mr. So and So will be there, only to check the clock and realize it’s so late and you really aren’t sure what you would say to him anyway, so you climb down from your super-high and insensible shoes, and begin the hour’s worth of de-come hither-fying, get your jammies on, pop Love Actually in the dvd player, stick a straw in the bottle of Riesling and call it a night. Or. Maybe that’s just me. Point is, progress is slow when you focus so much about the final result, that you forget to appreciate the journey and trust your instincts.
I have also really been working on this kindness thing. For now, it’s looking more like not speaking when encountering people. Not all people, but most of them, which is awkward. Today, I was traipsing all over the finest city in the world, and had made it from one the far end of St. James, through Hyde Park, completed a not so great exhibit at Kensington Palace (Vivienne Westwood was involved, so imagine my devastation. Regardless, if all goes according to plan, KP will be my future home when Prince William and I are wed, so I needed to scope it out.), walked to Notting Hill and made my way the length of Portabella Road (Meaning: http://tinyurl.com/y5blx72 ) in cute flats. All of this to say, when I was finally making my way to the station to head back home, a strung-out looking gentleman walked towards me and said, “‘ey, love! Why you lookin’ so sad? Don’ look so sad.” (Remember Pretty Woman? That random man says“…What’s your dream?” It was like that.)
A few points in addition to said trail that I traversed in shoes that were made for being looked at and not necessarily worn for very long, which can cause frustration:
1. Don’t tell me what to feel. Not ever. (not that I was sad, but if I were…)
2. I was walking into the sunset, and my brow furrows when shielding my irises from UV damage.
3. You don’t know my life. What if I just ran over my dog?
4. I’ve heard this many times from total strangers, which leads me to concede that I may in fact look less than friendly when I am thinking deep, creative, and world-altering thoughts, but who’s business is that? I didn’t tell him he should rethink his haircut.
All of this to say, my resolve to not be unkind faltered a moment and I said as we passed, “I’ll be sad if I want to be sad. Bugger off.” (That last part should be #5. I’ve always wanted to say it. Where better than here?)
I watched the ridiculous spring in his step dissipate like the sails of a ship deflating sans wind and I felt like I was looking at the one-armed cashier all over again, so in rushed my missing conviction for change and I flushed when he said, “Wha’s ‘at!?”
To which I amended, ” I said, Thanks for being concerned…and let me wipe this frown off!” So, a momentary relapse that I was able to sorta salvage, and I didn’t, much as I was tempted, call after him to say, “Be sure to check out the exhibit at Kensington Palace! Worth every penny!” Yesssss!