12 Minutes

12 Minutes. That's about the longest period of time I have sat since I got home. Between the 3 year old and the wife still recovering from the C-section and needed many things done for her, I've been a little busy these last couple of nights. Not that I'm complaining, I can't do that. At least not out loud, which explains why I'll spend most of that 12 minutes typing.

See, normally I'm a pretty relaxed guy. OK, that's not really true. Normal and I don;t cross paths very often. I'm a relaxed guy between bouts of absurd anxiety thinking about idiotic scenarios that have built up in my mind. Anyone ever worry that....

I can't even finish that sentence. Most of the things I worry about are so far out there, that anyone reading this would think less of me for seeing it written down. Worrying sometimes catches me off guard, sometimes it sneaks up like a slowly moving fog. Getting pleasantly cloudy until I suddenly find myself blinded by anxiety from all directions.

God I need to workout. Bike. Run. Swim. Just move. Do something. That's my secret to sanity. And I haven't been able to enjoy that simple pleasure often enough the last few days.

And it's all their fault. That's not really fair. I don't blame my wife and kids, God knows I'm not complete without the joy and chaos they infuse into my life. But they are the reason. They don't do it on purpose. They just do it.

And it's frustrating. It's one thing when I can't drag my lazy ass out of bed. Then I have someone to blame. But when I'm up late helping with the baby and don't get up to ride, there is noone I can blame. When I offer to take my wife lunch and don;t get to run, I won't blame her.

But tomorrow I'm going to workout. Or at least get to the shop to pick up the TRP Euro X brakes that have been waiting patiently for me.