steady wins the race

I have never been a sprinter, but I can hold my own in distance. Once upon a time I ran a mile in sub-six minutes, but that was a very long time ago and to be honest our P.E. teacher may have flubbed the numbers because I still don't understand how that is possible. Ever since those all-important turkey trots in elementary school, I've always told myself that the way I start the race will be the way I finish it, except with more sweat. I always knew I needed to set my pace carefully from the very beginning, not too fast so as to exhaust myself, but not too slow to jeopardize my time.

In some ways this characterizes my life. When I start something slowly, or hesitate too much, it often takes a while to really get going.

If I start getting too sassy, Matt and I play a game of sorts that I kind of hate where Matt makes it nearly impossible for me to stand up. Every time I try to jump up from the couch or love sac, he is right there to push me back down. While that game is fun, and probably even more fun to watch, lately I feel like that's the way this place is treating me. Because of the constant readjustments and situations that bring me back to square one, it has been difficult to really get going.

At least that's my justification for being in my new apartment for a week and still not having any furniture to speak of...

But I know that I can't convince myself that I would rather stay stagnant. I need to keep going and keep struggling to stand up, hoping I'll catch him unawares.