"Don't call it the ball thing. Call it pure being."

Less than 2 miles. I know. Bad monkey. But I had the kind of weekend that counts as a success if I emerge from it without any permanent injuries. Or felony charges.

I've let myself become bogged down by human drama.

Clearly, I need a big red ball and an environmentally significant rock. (I can't believe I couldn't find a picture of the "pure being" scene. Tragedy. Really. It would have been an excellent visual aid.)

Walking seemed to be less of a priority than figuring out what I was doing with my life. I didn't, by the way. I'm still more than clueless and as a bonus, less prepared for long walks. But that's where I was. And when motivating yourself to put on pants becomes difficult, walking 6 miles is a laughably ridiculous goal.

I have higher aspirations next weekend. I will make it beyond six miles. And then I will drink myself silly in Mohegan Martini heaven, up among the magic mountain folk of Leffingwells.

It's good to have goals.