Chasing Turkeys

So, I’ve been trying to write more frequently–as in each weekday (because weekends are for steering clear of this here computer-machiney as much as I can, so I can thoroughly enjoy my family!) And this will be the first week of my whole entire life that I’ve posted each day! Woohoo! I did it! But, unfortunately, I’m kind of running out of important things to talk to you about, so today is just going to have to be a weird, random story that popped into my head just now.
And this story is about chasing turkeys. Ready? Here goes.
So, a few years ago, like, before there was ever a Hope or a Gideon, I was driving along a very beautiful stretch of road when I decided that I needed to do something crazy. I decided that life is far too short to always be acting like a grown-up. Life is too short to try to be mature all the time. Sometimes, you just have to wiggle your waggles out, if you know what I mean.
And right about that time, as I was having this deeply profound conversation with myself, I drove by a field with a patch of turkeys. I mean, a flock of turkeys. Now, I was supposed to be running an errand for work, so that day I was wearing this very lovely long flow-y skirt and some nice black knee-length boots with heels. (Because for some reason, flip flops and cut-off sweat-shorts just weren’t professional enough for the folks in charge, down at the office.)
Those next few moments of my life were like pure bliss. I quickly pulled my Jeep over into the ditch, leapt out with as little grace as I could muster, climbed up over the split-rail fence and ran like crazy through the field, hoopin’ and hollerin’ as I went. And the turkeys ran too. They were skeered. Plumb skeered. And it was fun. 
Then I calmly walked back to the Jeep, got back in and carried on business as usual. Only I was a little sweatier and a little stinkier than I was before. But, I was feeling a lot more alive.
Moral to the story? Sometimes you just need to chase turkeys.
(Gobble, gobble.)

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