it is 9:06 on a thursday night...

...and I feel like I should write something. Many thoughts back-logged. Don't feel like editing or arranging or being overly eloquent or prophetic. Don't even feel like double-guessing my use of the word prophetic (in fact, I don't think it's what I meant to say, but I'll leave it. Maybe it really is what I meant to say, and I just didn't know it. Sometimes I don't know what I mean until it comes out.).

Week 1 of marathon training is over. It was fine. The long run was only 8. But I ate a bunch of crap and didn't hydrate well. I have recorded that in my Mistake Log.

Oh, I'm training for a marathon. Did I tell you? I am. The Des Moines Marathon in October. This is my plan.

But I've been learning about plans and how easily upturned they are, and I've been nervous. My plan is to train for a marathon between now and October and to run the marathon in October. My plan is to live long and happy and healthy, and have some kids who also live long and happy and healthy with a spouse who lives long and happy and healthy. And my plan is to work a good job and write a few good books and play some good music and eat and drink and have long happy healthy times of fun and frolic and awesomeness. That is my plan.

But I don't know if it matches the big honcho cheese nugget of the cosmic plan. I have no idea what that plan looks like, and I hope I am not horribly off, because as free-spirited as I would very much like to be: I don't like surprises. The anticipation of a surprise twists my guts and makes me breathe funny. I do not like it at all.

You can't live without plans. I mean, I suppose you can, but it seems like if you never made a plan, you'd just sit on the front porch and never experience anything. People make plans. Even people who say they don't make plans... they make plans. Maybe they don't plan further out than an hour, but they make plans. They buy bus tokens and pay phone bills and make meals. All three of those are indicative of plan making to one degree or another.

Sometimes people plan the births of their children. They work with midwives and rent birthing tubs and set up birthing rooms off living rooms and read books and go to natural child birthing classes. And then they labor for 30 hours before they have to have drugs and C-sections. And then they go to their homes with their babies and their scars and they return the tubs and put their rooms back in order.

Sometimes people plan to go get some medicine for a twisty abdomen and come out a week later with cancer and no hair.

Sometimes people plan to see their dad again, but then he dies, and they don't. Jesus! Or they plan to have a beautiful outdoor wedding, but then a hurricane blows away the cake and the dance floor. Or they plan to run marathons and then break their legs in freak walking accidents.

I want everyone I know to just stay inside eating oranges so they can't get sick and they can't blow away and they can't disappear and they can't have goofed up births and they can't get hurricane cake face. It will be fine. We can communicate by email and facebook. Please, just stay where you are. It's not safe outside your plan making den.

Is it so much to ask?

If you need me, I will be here with my hands over my face. You'll hear me before you see me, because my breathing is funny and loud.