Notting Hill (2026)

I scrolled through the handful of WordPress’s daily prompts, hoping for a gold nugget of an answer to shoot into my mind like a rocket across the sky, but nothing did. I have Meryl Streep’s energy in The Devil Wears Prada, “No! No. Noooo,” to anything and everything that comes across my desk. Have you seen the second one? Dang, how timely was that—it only came out three days ago? When I actually thought it’d been out for months.

What’s with this dejected, sitting-on-the-bench, not-getting-any-playing-time kind of energy? I’ve been returning to it the past couple of day, like an ex-boyfriend’s Facebook page. It’s a dumb and useless place to be, but the slope’s embankment is too steep (not Streep) for me not to.

There’s a behind-the-scenes to how I feel. First, I believe it’s the real me, so that even when I’m feeling stimulated and inspired, or whatever else, the return to the Eeyore seems like the most like home. I don’t like it because I don’t want to do anything when I’m in it. Nothing sounds good. Well, except for eating out. And getting a maid. Both of which are not in the budget.

I don’t want to call people back or text. I don’t send out reminders for work. The massive molehill of nothing I want to do, I’ll call Notting Hill. Not the Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts one from 1999, but the 2026 one from yours truly.

Ok, fine, I know what it is. You’ll probably think me silly, but I’m needing to up my running mileage. And like a big-butted donkey with hemorrhoids who wants nothing else to sink its booty into a warm Epsom salt bath. Boy oh boy, that was one weird metaphor—one that in the coming moments, days, weeks, and years I’ll likely regret to differing degrees.

Geez, I shouldn’t be driving—I mean, blogging—right now. It’s reckless out here, and someone might get hurt.

But seriously, I would like to go on record as saying I’m against upping my mileage. Excuses like I don’t have time, the routes are too boring, and I’m not ready come to mind. And yet, the ease of running 2 and 3 miles nonstop is not lost on me. And that I did 6 miles when I was in Disney only a few weeks ago.

I should probably stop hemming and hawing about it because the change is happening whether I like it or not. One long run a week, one planned-out, look-at-my-schedule-ahead-of-time kind of run. One that I may even drive to—kind of a special run, or even a race to do. That’s all I needed, to make it a bit more special.

Love, Jaclynn (still on the bench, but lacing up)