February, el mes de amor, ends tonight. I wish my mind's mess was a little more sorted out than from the 1st, and although for a moment I felt like my emotions & thinking patterns were getting more organized, but recently, this zig-zag operation feels oppressing to myself. I can't seem to catch up to my own self.
On Wednesday, I ran with M in what was likely the most beautiful afternoon run all month. It felt like the first one we ever did on NYE, when time & injuries ceased to exist for a moment because of the way she asked questions, the way she listened without hurry, the sudden look she gives me when I say something that peaks her interest. I keep thinking I should warn her about how disarming she is to me because people don't normally get me to talk that much. Es como si estuviera estrenando mi voz. A part of me wants to apologize because I don't feel I have matched her level of curiosity enough. If there's one thing I hope I'm wrong about, it's that I hope I haven't come across as selfish, because I feel like I have been.
And so, unfortunately, my injuries do exist when I'm not talking. February proved to be el mes de desamor. I'm 99% sure I won't wake up tomorrow morning for the Cowtown half fully recovered from a week-long knee injury & a month-long feeling of shit. My plan is to still wake up early to test it out, so I'm seeing this to the very end. Currently letting a big aah bowl of pho settle down before hitting the hay.
Lastly, I went back for the bajo quinto because, fuck it. Siempre le sobre peinso. As I start to tame work's madness more effectively, I'll be spending a portion of my weekends learning music again. The thought of sunny afternoons maneuvering my fingers to Costumbre's Queiro Decirte in March also sounds life-promising to me. Ojala que me escuche todo el vecindario y digan, “ese pelado esta enamorado o que?”
February ain't over 'till I say so, cuuuh.
Dando un chingo de vueltas,
Erik
East Dallas
Feb '26
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