This week. Ugh, take me to the woods. I just want to cook over a fire and lie down in a creek. It's strange that this weekend will be just about the first time I've done that proper this entire year. My life seems smaller sometimes for that. 

Well, at least I'll have dog date tonight as a midweek break from the inanities of my job. There's nothing about it that's even annoying enough in an interesting way to write out for posterity; it's all just so stupid and broken and lacking in leadership and process. I know I'm slipping behind, things I should be keeping on top of better, but it's so hard to care.

At least running is going a little better - knock on wood. I've managed 5 miles every day this week with no major blowouts. I think all it took was breaking down and asking my obnoxious, fitness-obsessed uncle about it over the weekend. (Who had no meaningful advice about what the actual injury could be except to give me a 40-minute lecture about how I was getting old. Perhaps my legs thought I'd suffered enough.)

Here was a funny thing, though - when I was a teenager in high school, I used to write a lot of fanfiction. I have been a little obsessed with Star Wars again since watching Kenobi, and I tore through two of the novels this week alone between runs, dog walks, and cleaning. One of the novels was so much like the silly plot in one of my fanfics from literally my senior year of high school that I went back and found the secret place on the internet where it's still up. I hadn't updated the story since 2005, and didn't remember it being at all popular when I was active in the community. But I had the nicest fucking reviews? A lot of them from long, long after I stopped writing/updating. The most recent one was from 2016 and it started out "I know you'll never read this and you're obviously not working on this story anymore, but..." and went on to be just so sweet. 

It was extra nice because frankly speaking, re-reading the story, it was objectively terrible. But I was such a kid. Of course it was bad.