Went jogging last night, after work, round Regent's Park. The flatmate's on a fitness trip, and its funny to outpace her, so if she asks I say yeah sure, and get my shorts on.
It was the third or fourth time in the last week that I've done the jogging thing so I guess I'm back in the tracksuit. Think, think, think...
1992, 1995, 1997, 1999, 2002, 2003, 2005, 2006... countless times I've done the fitness thing, going to the gym almost daily, charting my weight change and stamina change, usually during times of acute loneliness and it doesn't help, it doesn't help in the slightest. I run and I run, I push the edge of the curve, then I stagger home on my own, and wonder what the fuck is the point.
I was in the Oh Bar in Camden at the weekend, early afternoon, on my own, about three people in the place, slowly nodding off on a couch. The barmaid was chatting to the other bar guy and said something like "You don't look for love, you find it". It sounds good, but doesn't parse logically.
Anyhoo, I'm not going to find love running round fucking Regent's Park.