Caginess gets to me.  I simply cannot be inside for long periods of time.  Over the years I have tried to explain this strange sensation that builds inside of me which seems to only be able to be released and satisfied after going outside.  It started yesterday morning early.  I woke up about 6 a.m. and felt this restlessness in my insides.  There is absolutely no logic to it at all.  I can reason with myself till the cows come home (that would be forever as cows don't come home if they get loose unless you herd them back home) with no luck in quelling it.  I did that laying in bed; it's still dark, it's cold, Doug is warm, I have the whole day in front of me, if I wait to go outside it will warm up later in the day.  None of it worked.  I felt fidgety inside, like I wanted to crawl outside of my skin.  I could hear the call of the out-of-doors screaming my name.  I needed to feel the cool air.  To breathe it in my lungs.  To feel the breeze and the late winter air on my face.  I actually wanted to feel the cold and wind make my eyes water.  I like that man vs. wild sort of feeling.  We have a great weekend routine.  It's something between restive, magical, laid back and lazy.   After perusing the paper and another online publication, drinking coffee and eating toast, I could take it no longer.  Outside we went for a long walk.  After walking about an hour, some of my wiggliness expelled, and my drive to commune with the power of nature partially filled, we returned home.  I tried once again to express what I so often feel inside - this energy and drive that needs to, absolutely HAS to displace itself by being outside.  I'm not sure that I would describe myself as "high strung", but I am somewhat none stop relentless in my approach to most things all day long.  Maybe I am like a toddler who just needs to get the wild wore out of them before they can sleep.  That would aptly describe me.  It's a physical thing too.  I feel this mounting pressure inside that I can't get rid of unless I run, walk or work it off outside.  There is probably a clinical name for it, but since I don't feel crazy I haven't pursued a diagnosis!  After church, lunch and watching the movie, "To Sir With Love" (Sidney Poitier) with Doug (he had never seen it), I was feeling antsy again.  At 7:00 p.m., just as the sun was slipping away, I decided to run a few miles.  I LOVE that mystical changing of the guard from light to dark. The wind had disappeared and the last colors were vanishing from the sky.  There is something about running in the dark still world that frees me up to not think about my form but just the quiet darkness.  I listened to the quiet, if there is such a thing as listening to quiet.   The moon sliver mounted the sky to its nighttime perch and a few stars scattered themselves about.  I willed myself back inside feeling thoroughly released of my inner wide-open-throttle ness and ants-in-my-pantsishness. Fully filled up I was from hearing and feeling the quiet of night as my feet hit the pavement.

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