In the good old days of indiscreet youth, I often pushed the
limits of my physical endurance only to discover extra reservoirs of energy
stashed in the hip pockets my body’s cells. I’m not sure how it got there. Maybe I was just gifted with high-octane mitochondria
(thanks, mitochondria, you’re awesome).
Back then, when confronted with a big-big, laborious task, I
figuratively lowered my curly sheep horns and battering-rammed my way through,
all the way through to the bitter end.
Get ‘r done. Yes m’am. No
foolin’ around. I was reckless and
vigorous, a Roadrunner with ramming horns. (Sorry to mix metaphors here.) The classic super genius, Wile E. Coyote with his Acme
Corporation challenges (dangling performance-carrots, anyone?), only served to
inspire me to crash and burn even more.
But let’s bring this up-to-date. If I try to go full speed ahead when confronted (lured?) by
one of those big-big challenges, after several hours my heart takes off
galloping as if to say, enough already, stop
cracking that stupid whip, I’m overworked here, and can’t keep up with all this
running and ramming. Before
long I have to quit, or else run right off Roadrunner’s cliff to fall and splat
into Lake Lassitude (which, if you know anything about cartoons, is in direct
opposition to our beloved classic Roadrunner who d-e-f-i-e-s gravity).
Evidently the extra high-octane rations are on back order, and/or
the mitochondria are on strike. Today
in the midst of a major project, those cute little extra-reserve hip pockets
had emptied-out by late morning. I
kept working anyway, running on “E,” and tonight find myself life-jacketed by
God’s mercy in Lake Lassitude’s finitude.
(If you don’t know, look it up.)
There’s a moral to this almost-but-not-quite-fable. There’s nothing like old-lady
drivenness mixed with overwork to confirm an important life lesson: ACT YOUR
AGE.
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