A Moment From Today

Albert Einstein Français : portrait d'Albert E...

As I swung my purse and book bag over my shoulders a weight was lifted off of me – class was over. I don’t hate anatomy and physiology, I’ve come to love it actually, mostly because of Teacher Madame, it’s just that I’m a horribly vain human being and, having had little time to get ready for class, I had a hairdo that Einstein would envy. I realized that a sleeve of my blazer was starting to flip into a cuff and stepped outside as I was fixing it, looking up in time to see Kyle walking towards the building I was exiting.

I hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks so I raised my arms dramatically, “Hey!” I called over. My bags swung wildly for a moment because of the motion.

“Hello!” He said in his usual proper tone of voice, though upbeat. He was wearing a classic Kyle outfit – white button-up shirt with black slacks.

“How have you been?”

“Very well,” he said as we passed by each other, “and you?”

“Pretty good.” I grinned as I waved goodbye, I would have continued the conversation except I saw the Fit in the parking lot. But it was refreshing to see the fellow for a few moments.

Mother Madame and I had plans to go to Kimbell today (my favorite museum), but the weather and traffic put an end to our plans rather quickly.

Apologies if this post seems a tad odd, I haven’t had the chance to write for fun – the way I write on my blog – for a little while. I did post a few nights ago, as you know if you’re one of my lovely subscribers, but after reading it over the following morning, I decided against leaving it up. Every speck of it was the truth, but let’s face it folks, I sounded downright full of it.

Alright, then, I’m afraid I don’t have much time to write tonight – I just wanted to write something since it has been a little while since my last post. Hopefully I’ll have something more interesting next time around.

Until I Write Again,



Channeling William James

William James (January 11, 1842 – August 26, 1910)

William James

It’s going to be a very late night.

The usual reasons apply – studying, coffee, and the need to write.

The latest PWRP post is going to be up on Wednesday, because I tossed the one I was going to publish due to the fact that I was incredibly bored with it.

Going through some old entries in my little black book, I realized that I had forgotten one of my ‘rules’ that I created because of William James. When James was bored with a subject (he was originally going to be a painter, which his father positively resented), he would just drop it and move on to something that interested him. The art of giving oneself permission to give up. So, while I will always place information in my PWRP posts that I think you should know, I am no longer going to write just because I have to, but because it’s fun.

I think one of the reasons I fell for William James (if you’re one of the new subscribers – William James was a philosopher and psychologist that I have officially declared ‘the unofficial love of my life’) was because I saw myself in him. Or rather, everything I want to be. And in the process of trying to become William James, I’ve noticed that it requires many moments of giving oneself permission to do certain things, as well as reminding oneself to do other things, such as:

1. Ask stupid questions and don’t mind the stares that follow.

2. Just get up and leave things that no longer lighten the heart and cause one to pursue something with happiness.

3. Never get up and leave the people who matter.

4. Procrastinate and whine a bit when one doesn’t feel like doing work, and goof off when you’re supposed to be serious (James actually frustrated some of his students because he would frequently joke in his lectures and avoid grading papers as long as possible).

5. Chase after what makes you happy. Nevermind that people on the outside will think you’re naive. (The key word being ‘think’.)

6. Think.

Sometimes I feel like I should go after things that I want to do right now, but, thanks to you folks, I pause and ask if that would be wise in the long run.

I wish sometimes that I could live two different lives. So I could see how it would all pan out and which way would make me happy. That word keeps popping up lately, because that’s all that I’m looking for, that’s the cornerstone of many actions.

The good news, I suppose, is that I don’t have to stay anywhere forever, I can get up and leave. I’ve said it before and I say it again, I don’t want to be left wondering ‘what-if?’

Maybe I’m just meant to forever run around and look for ways to feel like I belong. As much as I dislike my personality type (INFP), I can’t deny that it’s true that I always feel like I’m looking for my purpose in life. When I was ten years old I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I had to find my purpose, because I’m supposed to be ‘different’, so I jumped wholeheartedly from one career choice to the next until I found forensic psychiatry at age twelve. Endlessly frustrated that I couldn’t find efficient ways of accomplishing great things. I still feel this way everyday, because I’m young and I know what I can do if given the chance. But I can’t, I can only try and continue feeling like I’m fighting quicksand. Like an anchor is chained to my ankle while I’m trying to reach the surface of the water.

I don’t want to go to med school, but I know I need to in order to become a forensic psychiatrist, in order to get people to listen when I talk, in order to have what I say hold weight and actually be able to move a mountain or two.  The next fifteen years of my life will be in a classroom or standing beside a preceptor in a hospital somewhere. I’ll find a way to fall in love with it, but I’ll be silently whining and easily procrastinating the whole way through, the way James would, and I’m going to be good at it… the way James would.

Back To Studying I Go,


The Power In Your Hands

Post Three In A Six-Month Series On People Reading

Before this post officially begins, let’s take a quick review of  important points from the previous post:

The most accurate reads are the most basic reads.

 “The big picture never lies unless that is the intent of the subject.”

You already know how to read people.

“We instinctively recognize facial expressions (happiness, sadness, anger ect.,)”

You automatically imitate whatever facial expression you are viewing.

“Some researchers believe that we have a ‘mirror neuron’ that causes us to imitate the facial expressions of the person we are looking at. “

Always consider the obvious!

“Someone may be crossing their arms because they are cold, not because they are comforting themselves or feel defensive.”


Pre-Post Ramble

 I love Glenn Beck. (This is relevent to the post, I promise!)

It was perhaps a year and a half ago when I was watching an episode of Beck’s show on Fox News that I noticed several signature body language signals that he would use during any given episode. One signal in particular he didn’t use often, but it conveyed a very interesting message.

During one of his monologues Beck was sitting on his desk, facing the camera.  Midway through a sentence he suddenly paused and made a joke about a politician. The audience laughed. But instead of showing a body language signal suggesting that he was proud of the response, his smile faded slightly and he sat on his hands before continuing the monologue.

Our hands represent power. Think about the power of a handshake, the honesty represented in an open palm, the negativity behind a hand raised to stop us, the meaning behind a clenched fist. Sitting on his hands after receiving a positive response to the joke seemed to be Beck’s way of shutting down any proud feelings from the response of the crowd.

Post-Ramble Post:

Let’s take a look at a few common signals represented by the hands in body language:

Hands And The Face

Steeple Hands

I used to be a skeptic of the supposed meaning behind steeple hands, and even though Allan Pease (who wrote my favorite book on body language of all time, The Definitive Book of Body Language) has said multiple times in interviews and in his books that steeple hands mean confidence and that the subject feels in control, I doubted it. I didn’t buy it until I was at Starbucks with Heather Madame a couple of years ago and I saw about a dozen men in business attire seated at a table and my ‘spidey sense’ made me feel like one of the men was the leader of the group. I eventually realized that it was because he was using steeple hands in combination with a stern, judgemental expression and the fact that those around him shifted their posture and expressions to match his.

Which just goes to show… never doubt Allan Pease. Ever.

The rest of the signals are a tad complicated, and it’s very important that they not be mixed up.

When it comes to the subject’s hand touching their face, the message changes depending on how much of the hand is placed exactly where, and in combination with general facial signals and body language signals (it may be complicated, but I can assure you it is easier than it sounds.)

Resting Head On Hand

Depending on the subject’s facial expression, this can mean one of two things (it’s always very obvious which one it is)

  1.  If the subject’s facial expression appears bored, the subject is bored.
  2.  If the subject is with someone they enjoy being in the company of (it’s a safe bet that the subject will have romantic feelings for the person they are looking at), they will use this signal as a way of putting their face on display for the other person. This is another signal that I highly doubted the meaning of until I ended up using it one night at work when I was talking to Josh.

Another version of this signal is the picture below:

As well as a another version, where the hands are open, palms facing down with the fingers interlaced.

As I was looking over our next picture, I saw a perfect example of a fake smile. So, while we’re learning about hand gestures, I thought I’d type a note or two onto the picture so you can find out the simple secret to discovering whether a smile is genuine or not:

You should be used to me jumping from one rabbit hole to the next by now, just be happy I haven’t gone on a thousand word rant on my love for Allan Pease.

Back to the hands – take a look at Ben Bernanke’s hand in the above picture. Whenever you see the fingertips touching the subject’s temples or near/on the forehead, this represents a negative emotion. Stress, anxiety, tension and often a negative emotion specifically about the person they are looking at, or the conversation itself.

Touching the forehead almost always signals a strong emotion, but it is not always negative. An open palm to the forehead can mean relief, but it can also represent punishing oneself for lack of foresight. Fingertips kept on the forehead always represent stress.

Hands On Their Own

Before this bit begins, I need to show you a picture of Allan Pease from his television special in the early 80’s:

Allan Pease with his eternally happy eyes, horrid suit and dreadful hair. *Swoon*

There’s no reason for this picture to be here. I just thought it was amusing.

Back to the post!

Folks in politics learn quickly to try to never use the classic finger point when giving a speech, because they will be seen as harsh, and be perceived more negatively by the crowd than they would have if they had used the ‘hand chop’ (hand sideways, fingers straight, lowered onto the podium in a ‘chopping’ motion) or the cupped hand (hand sideways, fingers slightly curved). Anything but pointing at the crowd directly.

Finger-pointing is always seen as a negative signal, and is often used when the subject is accusing someone of something, even if the intent of the subject was simply to drive home a point, the signal will always make the subject appear harsh and judgemental. And the audience will not only view the speaker in a negative light, but they will also retain less information from the speech.

You will appear more open and honest if you express an opinion with upturned palms.


You might have noticed that the hands are not my favorite part of reading people. Or really my favorite signals to study. But I know that anything you have learned here will benefit you, and I’m just relieved to have finally finished this post! Since I missed the original publish date last week, there will be a new PWRP post this Wednesday.

Until I Write Again,


P.S Please shoot me if I ever wait until the night before to write one of these posts! Goodness me I’m never drinking another cup of coffee as long as I live, eight hours and countless mugs filled with coffee and green tea doesn’t do very much to warm one to the act of writing about a topic that one doesn’t like very much to begin with.

P.P.S I just realized that tomorrow is Wednesday, so I will be working on Wednesday’s post tonight… please disregard the first sentence of the post script above…

The Man Who Lost Everything

I shall try to keep this brief.

I’m terribly behind on a lot of things, so I haven’t had the time to focus on the PWRP post. I will post it tomorrow morning (I probably won’t finish it before midnight) because I am going to stay up all night and not leave this computer until I finish the new post, it drives me crazy when I’m late with anything. Thank goodness the PWRP series isn’t a weekly bit, or I would have gone mad by now.

I’ve applied for a job at The Book Carriage (one of my favorite places in the potential multiverse), I’m making it one of my personal list items. I have created a list of things I want to do before I leave Texas:

1. Spend a night at the Hilton in Southlake Town Square.

2. Go back to Farina’s in Downtown Grapevine.

3. Complete 20 Before 20 list item number #2 (Heather Madame and I are planning on completing this one in July after I turn 18 on the 6th).

4. Work at The Book Carriage – a dream of mine ever since we moved to Texas five years ago.

5. Swim in Grapevine Lake.

6. Buy one more hat from Whistle Stop (my favorite antique store).

7. Buy a piece of the world’s greatest quiche and a cup of the world’s greatest coffee from Harvest Pie Company (a place Heather and I have been going to for the past five years, right down the street from Whistle Stop, previously on my blog I’ve called it simply, ‘The Cafe”).

8. Record a video in Study Room A in the Keller Public Library. This study room is the most sought-after study room in the entire library metropac system. I’ve only been in there twice, the first time to study french with Heather, and the second time I was alone, and so excited about being there that I typed up a post .

All of these are doable, and most of them I’ve wanted to do for a while. I suppose it would be my way of saying goodbye to this part of my life. Heather and I are not big on crying, but we both agree that the night before her wedding (since I’m the Maid of Honor, I’m going to be on wake-Heather-up-on-time duty, and make-sure-Heather-keeps-facial-mask-on-the-night-before-her-wedding-even-though-it-burns-hotter-than-the-center-of-the-earth duty) we’re probably going to cry like little kids that just fell off of a swing set.

In the next couple of weeks Madame and I need to hunt down a dress for me to wear to her wedding. Which should be…ah…an experience. I have nothing against dresses, I just don’t like wearing them unless I’m at the opera or symphony orchestra (because then I can bring along my masquerade mask, which I have just taken a picture of so you can better understand why I love it so). I have decided that when I get married, I’m getting a dress of the same brand as Heather’s, nevermind that they all cost an arm and a leg.

Last week Heather Madame and I were sitting in Starbucks, pleased with our victory in snagging the two comfiest chairs in the place. And for the millionth time we talked about what our lives will be like in a little over four months when she’s married and I leave for college.

“I hope I don’t miss Chloe’s arrival in the next few years.”

Chloe is what Heather is planning on naming her first girl, and she’ll be giving Chloe one of my middle names, Elizabeth. When we were thirteen we agreed we would give our daughters each other’s middle names, so my daughter will have the middle name ‘Marie’. Fun fact: the hospital where I was born messed up my name on my birth certificate. If you ask my mother, I have two middle names, but my certificate says that my first name is Hannah-Elizabeth and my middle name is Noelle. I prefer this first name instead of just ‘Hannah’, because I think Hannah is rather boring…I believe I was doing my ‘conversation flashback’ bit…ahem:

“Me too.” She said, “But I’m really not looking forward to being pregnant.”

I laughed at her expression as she spoke, she looked down at her white chocolate mocha like you’d imagine a man who had just lost everything would look down at some alcoholic substance before downing it.

She looked over and smiled.

“Madame, go with your first plan and wait for at least five years.” I said, “You’re so young.”

She nodded, “Oh yeah,” she suddenly had a hick accent, “I ain’t having no babies right out the shoot.”

We just sat there for a moment, just thinking and being amazed at the very near changes. Bittersweet.

“What about your kids?” She suddenly asked.

I almost choked on my nearly unpronounceable drink.

My kids?”

She tilted her head to the left and looked at me with that Oh, come now, Hannah, don’t play dumb with me look.

I tried playing dumb anyway and stalled by sipping my drink.

“What if you meet a nice guy while you’re in college and it works out? Are you going to wait over a decade while you’re in school before having kids?”

“Well, there’s no guarantee that I’ll get married while I’m in college-”


“I know! I know!”

“You make the freakin’ pizza guy swoon! You think someone isn’t going to snag you up while you’re there?”

(Heather is referring to a running joke that I always accidently flirt with the pizza guy and make him forget something when I’m just trying to be empathetic… for the record it actually happened only twice. But my mother and Heather will not let me forget it because they were witnesses to both events.)

“Yes! Wait, no? I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind being snagged, I want to get married. It’s just…children. I love them and I want a million of them, but once they come along everything is over. My career, a lot of little pieces of freedom, at least for eighteen years.”

“I guess you’re right.” She said. She was starting to do that man-who-lost-everything thing again.

“Besides, can you imagine me being a mom? I’ll probably be making little Freud’s and Wundt’s out of them. Poor kids.”

She chuckled. “What happened to our plan from five years ago?”

“Things changed.” I said, it was my turn to be the man who lost everything, “We got older, Carlisle came along, Rye left and you got engaged. And I suppose on my end, I just want a fresh start, where I can find a life that I can call my own.”


I should get to work on that post I just promised.

Until I Write Again,


The Bystander Effect: What You Need To Know

In March of 1964 at about 3:00AM, a young woman by the name of Kitty Genovese was stabbed to death in the middle of a street in New York. She should have been saved, thirty-eight people were watching from the windows of their apartments as she screamed for help as she was being attacked. And after the man (a business-machine operator by the name of Winston Moseley) left, he returned a few minutes later to stab her again, left, and then returned yet again to stab her once more before she died. Yet no one called the police until after she was already dead.

An elderly man, while sitting in a hospital waiting room, suddenly gasps and falls to the hard floor. He writhes in pain for several minutes before passing on. The other people sitting in the room watch and do nothing.

An 86 year-old veteran became the victim of a car jacking while at a gas station in February of this year. After the car-jackers broke his leg and sped off, he was forced to crawl on the ground to find help. ‘I noticed when I was crawling to the gas station, people were walking past by me like I wasn’t there’ the man said.

These stories sound horrific, because they are. You may have already heard one or two of these stories and thought to yourself, “Oh, goodness, if I had been there, I would have helped them! People are just sick these days!”

Well, folks, here is the truth: you probably would have done the same thing that everyone else did. The reason why is called “The Bystander Effect”.

Allow me to beg you to read on. Not just because you must know about this if you witness a horrific event, but you must know what to do if you are the subject of the event, and need to know how to stop the bystander effect from getting in the way of life-saving help.


I’ll try not to bore you, because I need you to keep reading. Here’s the short and sweet explanation of the psychology behind it all. There are two explanations for the stories I’ve told you, I will call them ‘group psychology’ and ‘fellow witness psychology’:

Group Psychology

We are social creatures. Period. We are hardwired to want to be part of groups, cliques, be fans of the same team or politician. We want to follow the status quo, be accepted by our peers, go with whatever flow is currently, ah, flowing.

So what happens when something unexpected, something not part of the social expectation happens? We look around to see what everyone else is doing.

Guess what everyone else is doing? The same thing you are! Think of the man who was car-jacked, here is what the people walking by him were thinking:

1. No one is doing anything, so he must not be that badly hurt.

2. Someone else will help him, I don’t want attention drawn to myself.


3. What if it’s an act of some sort?

Fellow Witness Psychology

Let’s look at the case of Kitty Genovese. This is perhaps more understandable.

The people looking outside of their windows probably saw other people witnessing the murder, and so simply concluded that someone else would call the police. Also, the uncertainty of the situation, the shock, would cause some people to simply pause and hope that someone else would do something so they would not have to.

When there is only one person witnessing the incident, they are far more likely to help someone in need.

What If It Happens To You?

I need to tell you that the advice I’m about to give you is not proven, nor has it been tested (as far as I know, anyway). But from what I’ve read I hope this will give you the best shot of getting help, and not ending up like Kitty Genovese or any number of shooting victims.

A man by the name of Bernard Asbell wrote a wonderful book called What They Know About You (you may have noticed I mention this book quite a lot, and let me tell you, it’s for a good reason, this book is fantastic!), in a nutshell, social experiments have proven that, especially if you’re a woman, you are far more likely to get help if you manage even a flicker of eye contact. Why? Because remember – when you’re in a situation where you are the subject, you are separate from the people around you. So, to remedy this situation, you must remove someone else from them and make it we. Make them part of your situation. This may involve calling out something specific about them that makes it undeniable that you are talking to them, such as the color of their shirt or bag.

Several articles on what to do if you’re kidnapped (stay with me here!) suggest that a key to staying alive is to appear more human to someone who is currently a stranger to you. You can do this by saying that you have a family, how old you are, that people care about you and that you’re scared. I think that using this same idea with the bystander effect can be extremely useful.

The people who are in the iron grip of the bystander effect feel helpless and confused. It feels like a social straitjacket, an anchor on their actions. People will put their own lives at risk and, obviously, the lives of others in jeopardy because of the presence of other human beings.

The good news is, now that you know about the bystander effect, you will be able to control a situation where its grip takes control. Whether it’s over you, or the people around you.

I’m sorry to say it has been a couple of years since I looked into what recent research has been done into this, so I’ll edit this post in the next few days if I find something that I need to add/update. The driving force behind this post, honestly, is how frustrated I become when I hear news anchors talk down on the people who are affected by the bystander effect. They make comments about the deterioration of societal morals and our lack of empathy for our fellow man, when the only thing at play, for Pete’s sake, is just basic responses by our brain doing what it knows to do in a new situation. The stories are still horrific, the deaths, unnecessary and heartbreaking, but let’s not ignore the other factors and wag our fingers at those who walked by, shame-shaming them for reacting the way they did. I agree – they should have reacted differently, it doesn’t mean they could have. They didn’t know what to do, and didn’t have the understanding of what was happening to them, or their mind simply told them that it was not as serious, and that is easier to accept than to make a scene and have the whole thing end up being nothing.

I won’t bore you any longer by going on, but I do encourage you to look into the subject further.

Until I Write Again,


Just A Quick Note Before I Leave

Hello Readers/Friends,

I just wanted to post this to tell everyone:

1. The next PWRP post will be up on Saturday (the usual blogger excuses for not posting when I was supposed to apply: busy with school, Heather Madame, preparing for this and that…)

and 2. To you-know-who, I promise to reply to your e-mail ASAP! And I now owe you one favor for taking this long to reply! (I promise to try to reply tonight!…and I am serious about that favor!)

Now I am off to The Center!

Oh, and apologies for taking forever and a day to reply to comments, I have said it before and I say it again: I love all of the comments on my blog, just like I love e-mails and letters (and the people who post and send them!). But, I’m just terrible at coming up with proper replies.

Until I Write Again,


P.S. Soon I will start leaving hints about what college I chose, and the first reader to guess where it is will get a 1000 word post written about them!

“Let’s Never Do That Again.”

Hot, humid wind whipped through the streets, the beams of cars in the distance dancing along the curves in the road. Night was falling as we stood in the middle of an intersection, dumbfounded.

“Heather, how did we get here?”

She turned first this way, then that. Fear flashing across her face.

“Where?” She asked.

Here.” I said calmly, “Right now.”

She understood what I meant and shrugged. “I have no idea.” She glanced back at the bridge enveloped in trees and vines, “Should we turn back?”

I looked up at the closest street sign and didn’t recognize the name. “I don’t think we have a choice unless we want to get ourselves into a worse situation.”

We started for the forest and I realized I couldn’t see past the bridge. I looked down at the keys and pepper spray in my hand and remembered that several months ago a jogger was raped in these woods.

Heather had the same thought, and I detached the canister from the key chain. She placed the sharpest keys in between her fingers, reminding me of a certain comic book character, and I took the safety off of the pepper spray.

Midway across the bridge I couldn’t make out anything, I could only see lights here and there. Madame surprised me by walking confidently in the direction we needed to go.

“You can see?” I asked, grabbing her arm for guidance.

“Yeah,” She said slowly, “Can’t you?”

“Not at all.”

Every rustle of a bush and twitch of a leaf or little furry creature in our periphery suddenly turned into a potential attacker. Hardly half an hour ago this place seemed to be filled with families and joggers. Now there was no one to be seen.

Heather Madame and I thought it would be fun to go jogging after stopping at Starbucks earlier today (we were out and about looking for an outfit Madame could wear to Carlisle’s graduation from basic training in the navy, and we brought along our workout clothes just in case we had enough time.) When we first arrived it was sunny and humid and refreshing in an odd way. But, obviously, two hours later cloaked in darkness and dominated by veiled panic, the place didn’t seem quite so dandy.

“I wish we had a guy with us.” She said suddenly as we walked down a worn trail.

I chuckled nervously, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

As we approached a freeway underpass Heather suddenly froze and gasped. I looked over to see a flash of pure terror in her expression.

I looked to the underpass and couldn’t see anything. I felt her arm muscles relax suddenly and she exhaled with relief.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. Meanwhile a voice in the back of my mind was screaming bloody murder to just run like the wind and mace anything that moved.

“I thought I saw a man, but it was just a shadow.”

My mind played for a moment on the contrast between how much we wanted a man with us to protect us (feeling comfort , relief and admiration towards a male figure) while simultaneously fearing one with, let’s just say, bad, intentions would appear out of nowhere (feeling fear, stress and expecting bodily harm from a male figure.) The really good guys vs. the really bad guys.

“It’s just your mind trying to make sense of ambiguous stimuli.” I said (I realized a moment after I said it that I had just accidentally quoted a Rorschach inkblot exam textbook.) “Just remember, if something happens, we are not helpless.” Just then I nearly tripped on a root but caught myself.

“I know.” She said as she glanced around nervously.

We eventually found ourselves in the middle of a worn trail in the woods, taking turns glancing behind us out of paranoia. I felt a spike of panic every time I thought I felt a presence nearby. I was fascinated for a moment by the fight-or-flight response, and wondered what chemicals my brain was releasing to make me feel this afraid (I know, it’s odd. But even when I feel bored or jealous I wonder what my nerve cells are up to.) The digestive system slowing down for a bit as blood is rushed to the legs and arms for running or fighting, shots of adrenaline as the sympathetic nervous system kicks into high gear, making the subject jumpy and hypersensitive to information from the environment, the re-

A beam of light appeared behind us, and I paused for moment when I realized it was someone on a bike.

“Excuse me, ladies.” A man’s voice said as he passed us. I caught a glimpse of a uniform and a belt that would make Batman proud. I looked over to Heather and saw her looking at me with the same emotion on her face as my own, an expression that can only be described as YES! A cop!!

Nevermind that said cop was riding away into the darkness, there was a police officer within hearing range. And to top off the relief, we heard cars passing by and turned the corner to see the part of the jogging trail that runs parallel to a main road.

On the drive back to my house Heather said what we were both thinking: “Let’s never do that again.”

So… that’s all. Nothing bad happened and we took quite a few memorable videos today (none on the trail, unfortunately. We were both disappointed that we weren’t able to capture our little potential-slasher-film/potential-Star-Telegram-front-page-news-adventure on camera.)

Until I Write Again,