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Aug. 4, 2005
I Once Felt Freedom, Too
All day. All day I sit, staring at your ebony emblem of freedom. Worst of all, if I look long enough, it stares back. It is then all I can do to dash for the quick escape - returning to my task of alphabetizing paperclips by birth-sign and avoiding phone calls from unfamiliar caller IDs.

Taunting me from a distance of 20 feet, your painfully majestic two wheeler leers at me in deafening silence, as if it knows what I will do to myself if only it can manage to do nothing – for no tongue is more wickedly barbed than that of silence. Le Sensation American – why do you insist on vexing me so?!?

Images of children laughing, the imagined feeling wind in my hair - longer than it is now of course, being a daydream - maybe even a baguette strapped beneath the seat as I make my way down a narrow cobblestone street, like something from a Meg Ryan movie that too many rushed to the theatre to see when really the effect would have been the same, or better, in the comfort of their own home. But I digress...

Then, just before Eponine, leader of the French Resistance, calls to congratulate me on winning my 8th consecutive Tour de France, my Outlook meeting reminder dings and pulls me back to reality. Or at least the version I trudge through day after day. Then suddenly, as if I never left, your svelte Felt appears again before me. If only to remind me...I've call-backs to make.

Oh, the evil that lurks in those who consort with Pirates. Arrre you kidding me with this?!

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We like getting our heart rates up, taking a big breath of fresh air, savoring delicious food. But we also love telling stories and here's where we type 'em up. (BTW, it works both ways; leave a comment—please and thank you.)

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