More opportunities than ever to do the things I say I want/need/ought to do. But when you're on a two-week holiday all you want is to revolt against schedules, those hard metal stakes that so often cause the tent of your life to capsize instead of standing upright. You're left with deflated parachute material and wet dirt clods.
Always excuses with me! Not just with me, I realize. I also realize I'm productive generally and often take for granted all the books and articles I read; the volunteering I do; the people I'm meeting and with whom I'm corresponding, most often via email, increasingly through handwritten letters; the various projects I'm working on (not including my manuscript, despite much self-cajoling); the thinking, talking, dancing, dreaming.
Did you know I want to have a small house - a repurposed garage, portable, powered by sunlight - and live in the Pacific Northwest? It will be one big room, with a loft framing a triangular big-paned window where our bed will be. Shelving for books will line all the walls and the majority of any storage we have will be for the rest of them, and vinyl. And plants wherever we can stuff them.
Also: to Ph.D. or not to Ph.D. - that is the elementary question, My Dear Watson.
What's more, I miss gardening, and have grown fully sick-and-tired of the construction site next door. I have a few potted plants on the steps that lead to our front door and one (ailing) succulent on the sill in our bathroom, but this seems hardly enough. If not for the cats, who simply cannot be deterred from ransacking any thing in their path, there would be plants lining the bases of the windows, plants on the side desk next to the telemodulator and on the kitchen table. Hell, I'd put a plant in the kitchen sink if I thought that Omar would mind his own feline business.
1:46 PM on the second-to-last day of my vacation...I think I should go back to reading Blind Assassin.