I don’t suppose I should feel guilty for spending most of this week napping. I recommend it for those who aren’t sure what to do with themselves. Napping is 1) enjoyable 2) nourishing to the imagination 3) restful 4) relaxing 5) easy to justify and 6) a better alternative to snacking.
Having built up my napping reserve, I’m headed into the new year with a slightly wonky back, wearing a shiny layer of sparkly makeup and silver hoop earrings, holding my sweetie, and possessed of a great appetite for champagne, or reasonably tasty methode champegnoise.
I’m never sure what to think of New Year’s Eve. It seems like a booby trapped occasion, much like the equally dubious Valentine’s Day. At least New Year’s seems less commercially contrived in its origins.
As I consider my options in the face of the new year, I try to resist the tide of doubt that washes of over me whenever I’m in life evaluation mode. Instead of wallowing in the contemplation of things left undone, incomplete, or inadequate (a tempting option), I’m opting to embrace small joys and pleasures. The pleasure of my friends’ company. The joys of waffles with strawberries and syrup. The sweetness of falling asleep and waking up next to someone I love.
I’m going to cling to what I know nourishes me, instead of being tempted by the thoughts that will tear me down, one nudging small sadness at a time. So here’s to resisting the cold tide and choosing to swim in a warmer body of water: May your thoughts, wishes and dreams bring you joy. Happy New Year.
Being on vacation in someone else’s home gives me an unstructured floating feeling. I imagine that this is what retirement feels like: endless possibility, low motivation levels, countless napping opportunities. It’s both wonderful, feeling so un-moored, and slightly strange–having no priorities to guide my use of time. Of course there are the meals to share, and the basic personal hygiene maintenance obligations. I haven’t reverted to living like a bear. I am living like a dreaming moth: the blank slate feeling combined with the short days and grey skies sum up to a slightly surreal bent of mood. I’m enjoying the dis-reality, plotting to make margaritas from scratch, staying warm, spending too much time on word games and random social network posts. From a life-cycle perspective, my time use is somewhere between that of a teenager and that of an old lady. This highly relaxed 15 year old grandaunt wishes you a warm and peaceful holiday season.
I’ve been waking up and realizing that I’m mulling over the findings in my readings and how they are altering my world view–for example, the best predictors of decreasing poverty rates for African-Americans? Lifting out of poverty correlates to having more AA’s being employed by the government and their having greater political representation.(That’s tonight’s homework–email me if you want the reference.)
Or I wake up feeling deep guilt about not having written anything other than this blog, and ruminate over all the chapters I need to revisit and improve when I start the memoir revision process in a couple of weeks. Here’s My Big Problem: I don’t have a quick snappy way of explaining how/why I ended up writing my memoir, or what the memoir is about. I guess that’s Two Big Problems.
And with my new schedule I’m constantly negotiating my priorities. Right now, for example. I really wanted to nap between work and my evening lecture. But I decided I couldn’t nap until I finished the class reading, and then I decided that if I finished the reading I was allowed to blog (still no nap in sight.)
I realize these are trivial problems–it’s like complaining about being covered in whipped cream–so messy, so sticky, and so delicious. That’s really what’s happening. My life is overfull with wonderful developments, but I’m not used to all this stimulation and activity. It’s great, but it’s definitely an adjustment.
This is my second blog site, but something about owning my own domain has changed the game for me. Maybe because it feels like I’m finally making a sizable commitment to my craft. You heard me–I really mean it this time (the claiming of a writerly identity I whisper).
The creation of this blog (a banal enough occurrence in the greater scheme) makes me feel like I’ve called a press conference and shown up, unmasked, holding a pen and wearing a cape. The cape wearing makes me slightly more sophisticated than my Jane Austen action figure because she doesn’t have a cape. (I feel bad when I look at her because I’ve lost one of her two accessories–the book is gone, but the feather tipped writing utensil remains.)
I’m so excited to write to you, dear reader, that I woke up at 5am unprompted for no good reason at all, besides my being hyper at the prospect of travel, studies, my shiny new two page website, manuscript readers, and the beginning of the school year at work.
My brain is no good whatsoever when it’s sleep deprived, so today’s modest writing goal was merely to print out three of my short stories (yay fiction!) so I could edit them in Montreal.
And now I’ve napped, and thus can blog. A good day to all.