Monday, July 4, 2011
Today was a pajama day. Yesterday I took two walks and sat at my writing spot by the river for an hour. I could accomplish anything. I started a poem in a manner that I’ve never started a poem, in fact I’ve never thought about a poem like this, I hung out with the best friend and in the evening I watched the rainbow form on the man-made water fountain at the center of the town river.
Today I ate yogurt and read. Today I swear I will never step out of my apartment again. All I want to do it curl up on my couch, which I’ve covered in a brown blanket to hide the disintegrating cushions, and read poetry and books about poetry and wonder if in the next five minutes I’ll finally be moved to take a shower and get some fresh air. Fresh air? I’ve had the window open all day; does that count?
Today makes me want to be one of those people who can stay up into the night and read exotic books, who can debate the great authors and write poetry with great meanings. And then, I tell myself I’ve spent 14 years dealing with emotions and depression and mental illness and that will be the place in which I get ideas for random poetry that might not come as often as those people who stay up late into the night.
Yesterday I realized I will not feel as pumped and alive as I did all day. Today I realize I will not feel as laid back as I do today, every day. Realizing that, yesterday, I did not make plans for today, I waited until I woke up to see how I felt. Today I am not upset that I didn’t go for a run or that I didn’t go to the store to pick up carrots for the curry. Today I am happy to live as my soul moved me. I like this summer vacation thing.
I can do curry tomorrow.