My sweetie is away in lovely Pittsburgh, PA--in February--for the weekend. His last conference took place in sweltering Orlando in August. They are not seasonally astute, these people.
So I am having Unstructured Time. I am puttering. Yes, I started the day with a teeth cleaning (report: I need a filling replaced--but it lasted me a good 20 years) and a shiatsu appointment. Then I formed sourdough loaves and went for a walk, before my life-coach friend came over. We were supposed to trade shiatsu for coaching, but I suggested we just have tea and socialize instead, and she was feeling the same way. We chatted, ate some sourdough straight from the oven, drank tea.
After she departed, the order of events becomes hazy. At some point I napped on the couch, at some point read a little more Three Cups of Tea, and at some point spent 2 hours lying on the living room floor with my feet propped on my meditation cushion, listening to the Slate Book Club and starting at the plaster patterns in the ceiling. During some part of the Book Club, I did a few yoga asanas. Not very meditative while listening to podcasts, but still a good stretch. I also researched New Urbanism online, wondered why such good ideas make such creepy places (anyone?), and ate tuna fish (with terragon!) on corn chips and in a piece of lavash. I also ate the rest of my chocolate cream pie. No husband was there to chide me about the necessity of a "proper dinner". I contemplated making my own yogurt from the yummy goat milk they sell at Trader Joe's, but took no action in this regard.
I feel that sort of time dilation that happens when one is stoned. It's nice. It's sort of healing...recharging.
UPDATE: New Urbanism may be so creepy to me because the N.U. places look like they were manufactured in a test tube, clones of the olde-tyme main street. Celebration is doubly creepy because it is owned by Disney, the corporation that famously made a fake Main Street.
I have to wonder whether N.U. is, on some level, romanticizing the past, fetishizing Main Street, like pastoral literature romanticizes country life.
But, suburban development is not going well, so...
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