When I ran the 5k last Valentine’s Day, I was okay for the most part until that final quarter mile, which says a lot for someone who doesn’t run. I ran that last quarter mile because someone forced me to. By that I mean he ran behind me and wouldn’t let me stop. He then shoved me across the finish line. I got an applause, but probably everyone did and I didn’t notice any cheering until I was the one being cheered for.
Why is that last leg so difficult?
I can physically feel the grey matter in my skull harden more each day I get closer to the end of the semester. I am mentally spent, and my body is wearing down fast. I’m that depleted tube of toothpaste that by some miracle is able to give a tiny bit more each time teeth need brushing. The whole world is on pause until I get through this: I’m in a dual state of furious motion and suspended animation. I want to sleep through the next two weeks, and when the dust settles I might feel as though I did. Autopilot, not the early morning drive one but the particularly impressive simulation of consciousness one, is kicking in.
Even my eyes blink as though moving through jello.
. . . …
This communication to the world via my handheld device is a captain’s log.
“Captains log, stardate something something…Hey, World, this little human out here on her little dinghy with her little yellow light dangling in the fog in these dark sea swells is still breathing, mostly.
“Maybe it would help if she didn’t stay up so late contemplating the universe.
“But ask her whether she’d ration those brain cells if she thought it’d help.