This has to be one of the best book titles ever; Dickens’ title is up there with Grace Paley’s Enormous Changes at the Last Minute, Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and Dave Egger’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I also think that two of my proposed book titles, which are The Gift of a Good Ride and If You Come to a Fork in the Road Pick it Up, also exemplary. But who am I to say? Best if someone else says this for me, than they will give these works added credibility.

I’m not stealing Dickens’s title; rather, I’m taking it and running with it, as would someone with a kite on a windy day. And undoubtedly, Dickens would be pleased to

know that over 200 years later, another writer saw fit to cast it to the wind.

Indeed, I had great expectations today, some of which were realized and some of which were not. And for those that were not, well, there’s always tomorrow. I spent the morning working on the earthquake essay, which by the way still does not have a title. I subconsciously came up with a very difficult writing exercise and gave myself limited time to solve it. I will not have fully solved the challenges that I created by my deadline, which is 1:00 p.m. tomorrow.

I have to figure out where my expositional material in relation to two key events occurs, which is my having to sort books on the home front and also at the library. I do this, and the main idea will materialize. It will be like seeing a dark figure come at me, out of the fog.

This is okay. I’m still going to submit it to the Anchorage Daily News Writing Contest. And I’ll return to it and revise it at a later date and send it elsewhere. I’ll encounter the same writerly problems at another point in time. They will then be less challenging. Or so I hope.

I wrested myself away from my computer at mid-day and went to my semi-private strength training class. It did not go as I’d expected, and for a variety of reasons, the most significant being that one particular exercise is causing me considerable angst. It is called the landmine press and I am to kneel on one leg and push a weighted bar forward and up. The weight that I’m lifting is far too much; that is, according to me. Ben, he must think that I can do this for he has not cut back on the weight or the number of reps.

I falter, and down comes the bar. What to do? Next time, I’ll mention this to Ben and see what he says. It could be the weight. It could be the way I’m lifting the weight. As with my current writing project, for now I just have to leave well enough alone.

Leaving well enough alone, this is a case of having great expectations. I’ll approach these differing tasks with a fresh mind, the writing problem tomorrow, the strength training problem on Wednesday. It requires a high degree of inner resolve to do this, and I know I have this.

Next: 43.2/12/19: A Conversation with the Subconscious