Commitment-wise, however, it was Everest, because I'm the queen of reneging. At a gallery, I promised to buy a painting, then emailed the artist two days later to say I couldn't. Told my husband I'd attend his meditation retreat. A week beforehand, I backed out. Assured a friend I'd attend her jewelry party. Actually drove halfway there, before pulling over to text her, "Sorry. Can't make it." I would have enjoyed those things; I reneged on myself.
Yesterday, sure enough, as the casino came into view, my mind veered off toward old habits. I'm bored. My knee hurts. This is far enough. Save the longer distance for tomorrow. Or the next day. But my tennies kept padding straight ahead. My lungs kept drinking in the autumn breeze, the scent of dried leaves rewarding my nose and their crunch delighting my feet. Maybe just a few yards more.
I did walk a few yards more. And a few after that. Until I reached the casino driveway, where I spun and leaped and hooted right there in front of God and all His gamblers. The two miles back was shorter than the two miles out. Possibly because I was skipping.
Take Me for Granted
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