This is a post about nothing. It started off as a post about running. I ran five miles yesterday around the lake where we’re vacationing in Michigan. I wrote about my thoughts per mile (TPM):
Mile One: Look at me out running! I’m so proud of myself. I feel good. I look good. My new running shorts aren’t binding or rubbing me raw. Even my bra is comfortable. I’m a rockstar. Hi all you Michigan people! I could run all day.
Mile Two: When do those f-ing endorphins kick in? Who put all these hills in here? What happened to the flat plains of the Midwest? Whose stupid idea was this anyway?
Mile Two Point Five: Hello, endorphins! Welcome! I feel strong and powerful! I will run around this lake every day of our vacation. And walk every night. I can already feel my ass jiggling less.
Mile Three: That’s it? That’s all the endorphins I get? Please kill me now.
Mile Three Point Seven: If I make it around this god-forsaken lake without getting hit by a car a la Stephen King, I will never again complain about my jiggly bits.
Fascinating, no? Other than two angry pit bulls chasing me for a half mile resulting in my fastest pace since high school (mile four) and finding the perfect place to hide a dead body should I ever need one (mile five), nothing much happened.
Instead of sticking this post in my draft file folder with the thirty-seven other pieces I don’t think are good enough to post, I’m giving nothing a try.
Where do I go from here? Nowhere. See how this works? I think I’m pretty good at this!
I could write about our vacation so far, but all I’ve done is run once and prepared endless amounts of food for apparently starving children. How often do kids need to eat these days? Since when can no one open her own cheese stick or yogurt container? Must be all this clean Michigan air.
371 words so far about nothing. That wasn’t so hard. Jerry Seinfeld ain’t got nothing on me.
I’ll shoot for 500 words. How hard can it be? I just need another anecdote. Where’s a good boating accident or random alligator attack when you need one?
Even the ducks that my kids can’t stop feeding are quiet. In exchange for our meal plan, the least they can do is provide some blog fodder. House rule.
I’m going for another run. I hope the pit bulls are out. Or maybe a rabid goose. If not, I’ll start making up shit. I bet I’ll be good at that.