A Long, Slow Walk

Went to the doctor’s office yesterday for blood work. Didn’t need it. Got a flu shot instead along with an exchange of words with a patient who thought it was none of my business if or how they were wearing a mask. The latter conversation happened because I forgot to install the regulator connecting my brain with my tongue, the one that keeps me from speaking my mind to strangers. Normally, I put it in before venturing out, but I didn’t think to do it this time, because it was a doctor’s office, I guess.

Anyway, it set a bad tone for the day. Sort of like getting a papercut right after arriving at work, on your fingertip, so that every time you type it hurts. That sort of tone, and I hate that tone, which is why I try to keep my mouth shut as much as possible in public. Because no good ever comes of it for me personally. But I didn’t come installed with a regulator, it’s an aftermarket affair, and I have to remember to put it in.

I ended up curing myself by taking a long walk in the afternoon down Back Forty road by the park and then into the park and then home. It was a slow walk. It took about an hour. When I’m walking to get my heart rate up, it takes about 30 minutes. As I walked, and breathed the cool air, and looked at the leaves turning colors, I thought this healing business is going to take a long time and I probably need to learn to walk slow and let things go. And if I’ve got something to say, and it’s worth saying, I should just put it on paper and be done with it, because otherwise there’s a good chance I’m going to come off sounding like a jerk.