sloth

I am procrastinating.

Right at this very moment I intended to be running, but instead I am flitting through the ever-lengthening list of blogs by brilliant beings. (Note to self: alliteration on a Saturday morning feels a bit over-the-top. Maybe on any morning.)

So if I can find five blogs by people who religiously exercise, can we call it good?

I thought not.

The irony of it all is that I *know* that once I prod my sneakers into forward motion, the rest of me likes it. I like the quiet of the morning, watching the neighborhood rub off its sleep. I crave the slapping rhythm of my feet. It's somehow steadying. Renewing. I relish the time to be alone with my thoughts and my God.

And yet here I sit.

Procrastinating.

Pro. cras. ti. na. ting.

P-r-o- oh, okay already, I'm off.