The first of probably many mental health days.

Yesterday the fog was so thick that I could've taken a bite out of it and left teeth marks.

At the beginning of fifth hour, I'd sent Mr. O an email that said: Please come see me in my office, or if you are busy, just answer this question if you can: Um, can I go home and take a "mental health" afternoon?

He'd come over to my office, my head was down, and he'd said, Is everything all right? And I said it was, but it's just that I was mad at myself and having a bad day and I needed to go home.

I drove back to Elgin, chugged the giant bottle of Advil, and lay down until the headache vaporized. This took three hours. At four, I woke up, feeling refreshed. And then I went for a 5.5 mile run. It's the first run I've had in the day time for awhile. And I'd needed it. Of course, the irony is that the fog blurred my vision for everything landmark ahead of me, but I was at least able to see my feet.

I miss Lake Nokomis. I miss the gentle nods to other runners, I miss watching the tiny, white waves lap at the shore, I miss the planes flying overhead. In Elgin, I like the dirt roads, but only when they're not wet. Last night was a weird run. The dirt roads were a muddy quicksand from melting snow, but the white snow on the sides of the roads had mixed with loose dirt--to create a soft surface that looked like white sand from Seal Beach. So with the fog, it was like I was running on the beach and just couldn't see the water. But, instead, I was just jogging along those hills on the back county road.

At Nokomis, I never had to watch where I was stepping, but I had to watch out for rapists or murderers on late night runs. In Elgin I have to watch out for all of the gopher holes along the dirt road that could easily catch my foot and twist my ankle.

In Elgin, the smell of diesal is everywhere. I like that. And at least the country folk give me waves. Plus, there are so many men in big overalls doing dirty work. I like to see that too, see people outside doing farmy things or fixing pipes or starting fires in their wood stoves.

In Elgin, I have to look for cars. I run along County Road 25, and she's busy. In Minneapolis, I just had two intersections--with cross walks. And people expected runners there. In Elgin, people probably wonder what I'm doing out there, running. They probably think I'm a deer. They probably think I'm crazy.

At Nokomis, you see garbage: cups, condom wrappers. In Elgin, you see roadkill at least every 1/4 mile. That cat that died a couple of weeks ago is still on the side of the road, near that mailbox, and he's been there so long, flattened so many times, he's as thin as paper--even his skull--and I imagine if you picked him up and held him to the lsunlight he'd be transparent.

Yesterday I counted three dead deer in the ditch, just in two miles on one side. In the dark, I worry I might trip on one of these deer, recently hit, and land face first in rotten, bloody flesh. One deer had been there awhile--he's body was bloated, fat, and he'd been decapitated. I was certain that this deer was a seal, somehow, on the side of the road. I even did a double take. On closer look, I realized that this deer had lost his head somehow, and it looked just like the cartoons do, with that short piece of spine, or bone, coming out at the neck. The melting snow, the moist fog, had caused his fur to stick to his body, giving the appearance of blubber.