Run With the Bulls
99.9% of the time I’d say I’m way too chickenshit to run with the bulls in Pamplona. Mostly I enjoy the marked lack of extraneous holes in my body, but also I am just lazy. I mean, it looks like you have to run really really fast to avoid being gored by a giant razor sharp bull horn. Does that sound like relaxing good times? Not particularly.
But .01% of me doesn’t want a relaxing good time. Part of me craves adventure — the adrenaline rush of living life on the daring edge of inexorable boldness. Bolditude. Boldosity. Yeah.
I’m probably not taking my death wish to the Spanish streets anytime soon (and if I do, somebody please stop me), but I do have the overwhelming urge to shake things up. A little.
All the black and brown in my house is pretty (I hope) but not so adventurous. Maybe too timid and relaxing. Comfortable. Now I’m not saying I’m planning a stampede of sorts, but perhaps a little flash and danger is in order.
Or maybe I just need one of those jackets.
And now, an important announcement: tomorrow the hilariously talented Rebecca of The Reluctant Floridian (who no longer lives in Florida) will be guest posting right here…
I know! Right here!
You simply must tune in to check her out. The power of Crisis compels you.
See you dudes tomorrow.