I want to run.
I need to run so I can get to my goal.
I bitterly hate the cold. Running in the cold is hard. All that bundling and layering.
I think I'll run anyways.
I can hear those "tough northern people" calling me a wimp. Well, I am a girl, so it's okay. I'm also a southerner, so that's great. stop judging.
If I die, my sisters get all my stuff. (Hey, J! Stop looking at my macbook!)
Maybe I'll envision a lovely summer day to help me mentally prepare for the winter blasts.
I'll use this one memory of me at the beach, in a tree:
Gee, my memory is getting foggy. Come back summer!
How bout this one?
I miss summer dreadfully.
Also, as I'm aging, I'm realizing how I am SO Scotch-Irish. I don't look very "American", and I do have a hard time of speaking with a plain american accent. Especially after I've picked up a few crazy dialects.
I think I was meant to speak with an Irish brogue.
Or maybe it's all in my head.
After I get those running endorphins in me, my foggy-headedness will dissipate.