Staying Alive

TABATA – STAYING ALIVE

It’s a glorious autumn day. Colours of gold and orange, bright sun and a warm breeze. Lunch over. Dishes done. I’m sitting here with my tea and tap, tapping on the keyboard. I’m feeling pretty mellow and content. No crazy erratic thoughts or energy running through my head or body. There is peace in the moment. I have this morning’s tabata class to thank.

 

Exercise is my big magic. I show up. Some days I rather not but I do. It gets me out of the house. It gets my feet moving and my heart pumping. Soon I’m singing and dancing like John Travolta – Yea, yea, staying alive, Staying alive! I pump my arms and wiggle my hips. Then I start enjoying it.

When things are tough, I have to work at everything. That’s just how it is. I don’t have to like it but there are things that I still have to do. I cannot put my head under the blanket until things pass. What I have learned is that things do pass but more things come to fill the space. You are never free of ‘things’. The only freedom lies in changing your thinking and feelings. I guess that’s what’s called ‘acceptance’. Hooray, I think I’ve finally got it! Well – until the next time. But in the meantime, Let’s strut a little.

STAYING ALIVE

I’ve been away too long, lost among overgrown untravelled paths this last while with no fiction in my mind nor fingertips.  But I’ve found my way back to this favourite spot – Friday Fictioneers.  It’s where storytellers gather to tell their tales of 100 words or so according to a photo prompt.  We are hosted by our gracious host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here is my tale of 99 words.

traffic lights

The glare of headlights nearly blinded her.  She clung onto the steering wheel with all her might, willing the car to stay the course.  Horns honked and blared.  She willed herself not to scream.  Everything was coming at her every which way.  What kind of nightmare was she in?  Was she sleeping or awake?

She remembers going down this road so many times.  Oh, how she wishes she could forget. Memory lane is not what it is cracked up to be.  Where’s the champagne and balloons? Where’s the laughter?  Where’s John Travalta singing Staying Alive?  Where’s……Oh my  God, Nooo!