Ever get to the point when you’ve read so much depressing news that your brain and heart reach some kind of maximum density and you just feel defeated by it all? I must admit that despite my usually relentless optimism, I was there last month.
“Is this supposed to press down on my nose so much,” I asked Ryan, the trainer administering my metabolic and VO2 max test. “Yeah, it needs to be snug enough so air doesn’t get in through the sides,” he explained, adjusting the straps and checking the seal of the mask.
Maybe it's my imagination, but I've begun to notice this weird phenomenon in my editing work. If I start working on an interesting story, or I get into researching a new topic, I'll often have some sort of direct personal experience with the subject matter. Some of these serendipitous encounters are quite pleasant. Others, not so much.
For the past few months, my neighborhood has been slowly filling with signs. Lawn signs, mostly – signs about war and peace, signs rallying support for different points of view. One morning last week, I went out for my morning run and noticed that all the signs belonging to one camp had disappeared. Overnight, I presume, one side took down the other side's signs – an effort that would have required both trespassing and stealing.