Horrifying realization with metaphors to match

The kickball game was immortalized on film, as it turns out, and there's a truly amusing picture of me running for a base. People thought I looked rather "sporty," but I just saw a graduate of the School of Goofy Runs trying to gallumph to home base. It's like taking a picture of someone when they're eating: they think they look perfectly normal, doing something they do everyday, but then the proofs come back and there is hair-raising shrieking all around.

I've felt like I've been running--goofy and otherwise--full tilt the past few weeks. I cleverly set up a series of mini-trips for myself this month, both conference and playtime. I'll be gone every weekend for the next four to six weeks. This seems like an excellent plan, but it doesn't get my midterms graded (hope I can bring those on a plane! Are pens still allowed?) or the Faerie Queene figured or Shakespeare's notions about providence in English history explicated. Nor does it get any articles revised or written, or add to my social network in my new town.

All whining aside, I am hitting the beach this weekend with my ubercool pal from high school, so I really can just suck it up and calm down. Maybe I can practice my running on the beach. Offseason now, so there won't be as many camera-toting witnesses.