On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Stupid, stupid Tracy

I was in the process of preparing this long post last night before bed about New Orleans when the alarm on my cell phone went off, alerting me that it was time to take my coumadin.  Problem is, it turns out that this is the first time in 2 years of being on the stupid drug that I didn't have my coumadin with me.

After hysterically ransacking my suitcase, I realized that the pills are still in New York.  Several calls to my mom and a 24 hour pharmacy later, I acknowledged that I would have to spend this morning trying either to track down a new prescription or to get my pharmacy to transfer my prescription here.  A hectic morning later, the nice people of Rite-Aid in New Orleans figured out a way to sell me 4 pills.

This took hours, and when combined with necessary pre-wedding socializing meant that the long run couldn't happen today.  So, tomorrow or Tuesday for it.  Stay tuned.

I am an idiot.

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