At first, we were at a bit of a loss as to what to do with her but a manic day that required some comic release gave us a few options. We hid her in the supply closet and in the corner of people's offices. She stood in my place when I went to lunch and in the corner when she was on time out (aka getting on my nerves). We snuck behind co-workers' chairs and left her there, only for them to turn around in shock.
Over the course of the week, her home became next to the white board. It was out of the way and not incredibly startling. It also gave people the chance to write what Kassondra was thinking.
I don't think much over the course of the day beyond, "Where's the coffee?" buy my work husband devised the longest-lasting message.
Let it be said that my work husband is not a runner nor is he particularly interested in it — unless it's a passive agressive commentary or the butt of a joke. Also let it be said that I chuckled.
And then, I thought. Do I talk about running too much?
I really try to limit the fodder and stories to my running circle, conversations with Mark and posts here but it does permeate my life. My stories often start with "I met Tami for a run and ..." or "I was on a run when ..." or "I came home from running and ..."
I can't help it, though. By the time I get to work, one of three things has likely happened — my spirited child, whom I love dearly, has made me crazy, I went for a run or I taught class. What else am I going to talk about? Miles questioning why I call him Miles because, obviously, he is Batman.
OK, I talk about that, too. Who wouldn't? He's cute and far funnier than I am.
For me, it's hard not to share that part of my life. I don't think of myself as someone who runs but a runner. It's who I am and the miles course through my veins. To not talk about it would be ignoring hat.
Note: I could always pick up a hobby like crocheting and then I can talk about how often I hook.