Walking





​​​​​I love walking. I do it every day and hope that I will be able to continue to do so even into my old age. I walk to the streetcar stop everyday, I walk to work, I walk back to my apartment and then, weather permitting, walk again through City Park. Not only does it feel good, but I’ve found that there’s nothing else like it that clears the mind to refresh it for newfound thought. During my walks in the park I am always accompanied by music. Thanks to you Rhapsody and to my MP3 player. I wear my digital headphones outside. I cannot stand those mobile-stick-in-your-ears-that-come-with-the-device phones. I couldn’t care less about how it looks. My headphones are actually quite unobtrusive. They sound like my actual stereo out-of-doors. I’ve never paid much attention to how I walk. I didn’t think I had a walk. Apparently I do because I’ve heard comments from several different sources about my walk. I’ve been described by various others as voracious, independent, a star and most recently, a pimp. I don’t know exactly how a pimp walks, so if I do, someone needs to clue me in on how that goes. The only thing I know that I might consciously do is elongate. Two of the only things that I’ve ever wanted are to have a great man and to be tall. Since I’m lacking in both of these things, it goes to reason that maybe I might exaggerate my posture. I do try to stand and walk as upright as possible. I especially love walking in the early morning when the sun casts a thirty foot shadow. It’s a visual fantasy that may help me to cope with the fact that I will never be tall and that I probably won’t ever have a great man. That sounds sad. It is; but not so much. As pretentious and arrogant as it may sound, it’s comforting to know that I’ll be around to be as tall as I want and to be my own lover.