I would write, but I'm tired. I would talk about Lily, but I am tired.

I run a lot with the dogs and hardly dream at night as I yank cold covers over worn out legs and knees and a stupid twist in one ankle. Just a few steps past sleep, a heavy curtain crashes down inside my head and my imagination doesn't even struggle. It stays there like a motionless lump. Even the curved baked bean shape of it is boring.

At home after Lily and I jog down the road, then run in the woods with the other guys, Jerry calls from Long Island. The hotel is crappy, just like anywhere, he said.

Do we have oil? I ask. That's my favorite question in the last few weeks. I am too wimpy to shine a light on the oil tank and see how close we are to E. Well, if you run out, just get a few gallons of diesel. I'll be home tomorrow, he said.

The vet took $100 bucks off the cost of our 12 ounce bottle of enzyme stuff for Lily, I tell him.

Why?

Who knows? I say. I didn't ask them to do it, but initially the girl sounded surprised and sort of sympathetic when she asked if I knew the cost.

It's, like, $320, she said in a voice saved for phrases like, Oh, my God!

How much was it then? Jerry asked me. $220.

I wonder why they did that, he answered.

My vet Marc Reynolds in Oxford is a great guy. We drag our mutts screaming and slobbering through his little lobby too often. He has at times just waived the whole visit for us. Oh, that lump on Lily's belly? One peek and squeeze and the vet tech there knew it was a harmless, but herniated something or other. Don't worry about it, he said as I tried to pay. Oh, He knows my diminishing wallet and I will return. Often.

Anyway, I tell Jerry that the vet's office is decent to us. Maybe they know we'll be buying this stuff forever, I tell him. We say goodnight.

A few minutes later as I glance past the flashlight's wimpy yellow beam into the oil tank I see the gauge. It's floating at a least whole millimeter above E.

I am not washing any dishes tonight. I want warm feet in the shower tomorrow after trudging through the early morning rainy forest with Lily while tree limbs toss chilly drops down my back.

In case I have not thanked everyone including Jerry mom dad aunt neighbors friends….thank you. Unlike fear or apprehension, worry or frustration, motivation is one of those things you've gotta muster.