Isn't this supposed to be the slow season? Long, quiet days followed by evenings knitting, reading or otherwise being active in a very non-active way?
Maybe it's just me. Maybe part of my DNA is still evolving through its sloth stage.
The other day I went to do my favorite yoga dvd only my computer ate it and after a frustrating 18 minutes (or so, I mean, really who's counting right? I mean, you would never actively watch how many minutes are going by as they are being wasted by a technical caulk-up, would you? Of course not.) I gave up and reached for an old Baron Baptiste cd I had kicking around and threw that into the Bose.
Hell if that Baron boy doesn't give yoga prompts that would be great if I were, you know, a hummingbird and able to move at 300 wingflaps per second-- or 3,000 or however fast hummingbirds shake it.
All I know is he lost me about three minutes into it so I just shelved it and did some kind of yoga aberration of my own making.
But it made me wonder-- am I just slow? And by slow, I mean-- abnormally slow? Because I am feeling like I just can't keep up and that is plain silly when I have pared my life down to such basics. I have pared my life down so that I can enjoy a leisurely pace-- but it's not feeling so leisurely of late. It is feeling like one minute I'm reaching down for a bit of pretty sea glass, I blink and the next minute the tide is coming in and I'm up to my waist.
Please don't tell me I am old-- I am sure that is what is really going on-- but it's hard to acknowledge being old AND winter-- so let's just say I'm slow. Because -- it is Friday and my desk is loaded-- my email is just ludicrous. Really-- that is the only word for my email box. Absurd.
Or, maybe it is some kind of French existentialist play where I valiantly try to reduce the numbers only to find more pouring in. These are in no way complaints-- I hope-- I certainly don't feel like I am complaining-- just blowing out puffs of steam about the fact that I need an attitude adjustment.
Let things fall. Let things not get done. Slip into the flow of the messy side of life and stop wrestling with it and try to make it sit at the table, hands in its lap and behave, damnit.
Oh please-- surely you know me by now. . .
*because you KNOW I'd always run it on 'delicate cycle'