After four full weeks of wordspew, the finish line for this marathon is suddenly in sight. We've left the Verrazzano, crossed the Queensboro, ducked in and out of the Bronx, and turned the corner into Central Park. I have to tell you, at this point I fully expected to have fallen by the side of the road, moaning and gasping and retching into the chickweed. But the reverse it true: I'm feeling strangely energized.
I've searched for reasons, but I can't find them. All I know is that, for the last few weeks, I've taken the same approach to work-related writing as I have to my blog posts, and the result is an amazing increase in efficiency. Stuff I used to hem and haw about now just flows forth, like drool from a teething 18-month-old. And I don't even hate it, nor do I feel that noisome compulsion to futz with the verbiage. It's eerie.
Once more, this new dynamism is starting to infect my bloodstream. Today I left work, took a wrong turn down Park Avenue, and before I knew it I had walked all the way home, 58 blocks. Later, I had enough energy to clean the dishes, read from the excellent Pizza the Size of the Sun, and have Robert cream me at Great States Junior. I had no chance; he rolled three stars, and he reeled off six states that start with "M" as effortlessly as a concert pianist plays a C scale.
(I feel we are doing Robert a great service by playing this game so much. It will surely incubate a love of arcane American trivia that will help him win a ton of bar bets. And make him a huge hit with the ladies.)
Time to sprint for the finish, everyone. If you're starting to falter, hop on my back and let's roll. You see that Kenyan guy up ahead? We can totally take him.