I find it rather humorous when given accolades on my abundance of creative energy. What others see as a gift is the curse, at least to me, of an overactive mind that never shuts down. With the help of medication, I am able to corral my OCD tendencies to some degree. They still tend to get out of the barn. This two-part story shares what I do at night while you sleep.

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The 40 degree temperature was melting the giant mounds of snow stockpiled along the roadways. The rapid meltdown caused flooding to roadways and surrounding lakes but that didn’t keep me from putting on my swimsuit and running shoes. I grabbed a Corona from the fridge and set out for my square mile run.

A number of neighbors waved as I passed by their house or shouted words of encouragement. My first turn was onto a dirt road over-saturated with the melted snow. It was a muddy mess so I jumped onto a four-wheeler and spun mud all the way to my next turn. It too, was a dirt road but bordered by two lakes in certain areas.

The first stretch of the road was a steep incline which I ran on foot; Corona still in hand. At the top of the hill was the most beautiful sight. Water cascaded over rocks that glistened in the sunlight. I carefully stepped on embedded rocks to make my way over to the edge of the waterfall where water pooled in a small pond below.

An African American woman stood next to me and struck up a conversation about the sheer beauty of this small waterfall. I shared that I only lived a short distance away and had somehow forgotten about this place. “You are already in your swimsuit; you should go for a swim.”  After I politely declined, she began to discuss how this location would make a great wedding venue as long as they had electricity.

“You can’t have a wedding without music,” she chattered. I looked toward the grassy area where she pointed and noticed a couple of picnic tables and an arbor. “Well, I’ve got to go,” I said abruptly, and started my descent down the hill.

When I reached more level ground I turned to see my mom on the front porch of a house, but had no time to stop or wave. I needed to get to my next turn at Argentine road.

I wasn’t prepared for the flooded lake waters that covered the road ahead. They were deep, murky and filled with dead fish, debris and plastic boat covers. I grabbed ahold of a boat cover and used it as a life raft while I kicked and swam my way to the next turn.

I had finally reached the home stretch, or so I thought.

(To be continued)