My morning run went much as we would expect — no new records, better than it had been going (hence improving my rolling average), no injuries or even discomfort. None, that is, other than ‘running two miles first thing in the morning’, which (I will agree) is its own sort of intrinsic discomfort.
Coffee, fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, then home for coffee and toast, and writing more on my Overdue Essay. The temptation (bolstered by a hyperbolic sense of academic obligation) to research every angle of my writing very thoroughly, combined then with the annoyance of having mislaid notes I had taken on previous research probes, threatens to derail me at every turn — but so far, slowly, I’ve been making headway. I’m waiting for that ‘dam bursting’ rush of words that often arrives and sweeps you well past the agreed word count, but so far, no joy.
Margaret and I began a French-Canadian crime drama called ‘Détective Surprenant’ (= “Detective Surprising’ en anglais). Are all Canadian detectives dolorous, afflicted by troubled marriages relative to their wives’ careers? And, who lives with the name ‘Surprenant’? Why hasn’t someone filed the Canadian equivalent of a deed poll? If your dolorous spouse insisted o going by the name ‘Mr Surprising’ (or ‘Ms Surprising’), wouldn’t you be rethinking your decision to forego a career in the big city?