Monday, August 18, 2008

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing. (Macbeth 5.5.19-28)

I want tomorrow not to come and to be over with. I've been waiting since June 5th, which is a long time. And yet, it's stupidly foolish to make such a big deal over something so petty.

But, is this not just the most incredible speech? And perfect for a blog, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing.

I love wrist-slitting tragedy speeches, and Shakespeare is GREAT at them. I also love wrist-slitting blues.

I was all blah today fretting needlessly, and then I went for a bike ride. Immediately, things start looking up; it was warm out, but not too hot, a little wind, but not bad. The first little hill was slow, the first bigger hill was better than usual. And then I got a rhythm, mostly. I only rode 15 miles (because being blah, I started late in the afternoon), but I did it at an average speed of 16mph, which is, for me, just really, really good for a semi-hilly ride.

Last year at this time, I could average 16mph only on the flat bike trail, and only on good days. On this road area, I was doing well to hit 15.2 mph (yay for bike computers, which make things sound a lot more exact than they probably are).

Lately, though, I've been getting more of a rhythm feeling on my rides; my legs just go, at least on the relatively flat parts. (I'm frustratingly slow on hills; walkers could probably pass me.)

And sometimes, I must admit, I look at my bike in wonder that I'm allowed to ride such an incredible piece of machinery. It's way more bike than I will ever be rider (though, no, it's not a really high end all carbon or titanium bike). But, yes, I get to get on, click in, and go. If my bike were sentient, it would long for a much stronger rider.

Maybe after the hurly burly's done tomorrow, my bike and I will go up the hill on County C? It kicks my rear, that hill, but coming down makes it worth it.

1 comment:

  1. Ahhh. I love the wrist-slitting-tragedy dramaqueeny speeches myself.

    I always thought the speech about having waded in so deep he might as well keep going was the epitome of grad school, or at least post-ABD.