thoughts upon a treadmill

Why was my dream last night like that? So I could really do that huh. Like know in my dream when I would need to wake up. But why does that kind of dream come back regularly?

I wonder if SEC will finally approve the latest name I've reserved for the corporation.

I need pink socks.

The artwork for Josh Groban in the iPod must be changed soon.

That softball bat in Toby's is reasonably-priced, though that Prince badminton racquet is a beauty.

Come on and we'll sing, like we were free. Push the pedal down, watch the world around fly by us. Come on and we'll try, one last time. I'm off the floor one more time to find you and here we go there's nothing left to choose. And here we go there's nothing left to lose. *

I wish I'd join that photography seminar along with Mike.

Oh that Historial Fiction Writing Workshop is interesting. But I don't have a manuscript on Mindanao folklore. Sweet niblets.

Should I reserve a court for Sunday's badminton game? Nah no need.

Finish this, shower, then drive the girls to Marco Hotel for breakfast and swimming.

With the rhythm of those shoes on the machine belt, as if on cadence these come across my mind.

* Nothing Left to Lose by Mat Kearney