It's only a thing

I feel like crying every time I get onto my newly borrowed bike. It's very kind of the friend that lent. But it's just not... it's just all wrong.

I find myself thinking how stupid I am to have left my bike somewhere where it might be stolen. How I wish it might have turned out different. Or that by some miracle I might get it back.

Meanwhile, rushing around, trying to get everything done, my legs hurt, my back hurts, I can't carry enough stuff, and I'm cycling like an incompetent, slow, useless novice.

At least I need to sort out a luggage rack. And get the seat height right. But still then...

Meanwhile I'm staring at passing cyclists. Peering at parked up bikes. Weaving erratically whilst doing so.

I know it's only a thing. But there's no joy. Where before there was symbiosis.