Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I've got the blah's. For about two weeks now, I've not had any desire to get out and ride, at least not beyond the commuting. The commuting has been good--cooler mornings so I don't arrive to work in need of another shower, light traffic since I leave early. So the cycling to work is going just peachy. Getting out for longer rides, though, has been non-existent. I've kind of decided to just let my blah's work themselves out. I hope they do soon. Part of the lack of cycling desire stems from returning to work. At least that's what I'm going with. Going from having all the time in the world to get out and just go without other commitments to worry about to having to be somewhere to do something every single day is a shock to the emotional system. Going from being able to think about nothing, what I truly believe were moments of reaching the end of my brain as I'm rolling along (my hubby finds this incredibly funny, but I swear there were instances of...

One of my desires, in addition to becoming a faster runner, is to be a writer. A real writer. Someone who writes each and every day. Someone who has work published. Someone others read and say, "Wow, that was a good read." Today I offered a new piece to a trusted friend, another writer who gets what it means to want to touch others with words that create images and emotions. Her response to my new piece was that she really did get it. With this short story, I reached a point where I couldn't decide how to continue. I wasn't exactly sure where to take it, though, so I saved my work and closed my computer to take a break. I returned to it a few hours later, started from the beginning, and added in details as I read through. When I reached my stopping point, I realized it worked just the way it was. I sat back, a little surprised with how what I had truly made the story do exactly what I wanted it to do. I reread from the beginning again just to be sure I wasn't read...