Sleep is a wonderful thing, but I think I indulged too much this past weekend. Spent both Saturday and Sunday in bed with a book. I did manage to get to an early morning coffee with a friend on Saturday and then a dinner on Sunday.
Today, I feel like I’m in mud up to my chin. What happened to the light feeling of rafting on clouds? Life spun a change and I am feeling heavy. It’s not a bad heavy. I still breath deeply and freely. It’s just different to not have my naked toes tingle.
I am somewhere in the middle of my second book. I need to take the time to read the first pages to the middle because I have lost my footing. I’m not certain what’s happening with the narrative line, but then maybe in a memoir a person can get by without a narrative line. I send dust to the air and sneeze. My desk looks new again. I wander if the action of dusting and creating a clean space is equivalent to showering…do I get to start new after soap? I say yes because it is so good to feel like new again and not some lame robot with blood coursing through my body.