“The days run away like wild horses, over the hills.” — Bukowski says. This has been true for me for the past two weeks. The days are a blur. I am finishing up a presentation. I won’t make it to the meeting on time if I get on four wheels, so I get on two.
I am learning to enjoy the small moments, so that’s the wind on my face, while I am on the boda boda and the up and down motions when it hits a pothole. You will be surprised where you get your excitement when you have no time.
The names of these boda guys are interesting. Batrick, for example, is a name that has been stuck in my head. I would love to listen in on a conversation between him and Patrick.
After my pitch, or meeting, or brainstorming. I am meeting a girl, because interviews must be done for the Mrs. This one is nice, I like how she carries herself, the other one makes me feel good, and another one is ambitious, it might rub off on me and I might end up vying for the top seat, bottom-up, no?
Which one will stop the grandkids debate that has been trending steadily with my parents? I don’t have time to answer that, I’m cycling with a group called Baisikeli Safaris. We’re meeting at Adams Arcade. It’s euphoric experiencing something you enjoy with people who enjoy it too.
Before I can recover, my birthday is knocking. But books have to be signed, delivered, talks given, presentations done, grandkids made, or not made, pretend to make them. But where’s the time? When the days run away like wild horses over the hills.
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