Friday, February 19, 2010

"When you get the blanket thing you can relax because everything you could ever want or be you already have and are."

“How are you today?” is a question most of us hear many times throughout the day. But, it’s only with friends can we offer more than a rote “Good! How are you?”

Me? I’m more rested, but still under slept. I’ve (almost) come to accept that it’s a chronic condition. I’m looking forward to my weekend like I’m about to win the lottery. If only there were enough hours and unfettered time inside those two tiny days to go shopping at IKEA and Costco, linger with a friend over a long brunch, go to the drive in movies, visit with family, take the dogs for a nice long walk, curl up with a good novel, sleep in with the baby in the middle, languish on a blanket on the grass and squint my eyes against the sun. . .

I wonder why I feel like a druggie when I start pulling out my sundry pumping supplies. Is it because there’re plastic baggies involved? Why do I draw that analogy every time as if it’s on automatic replay? Why don’t I feel more like a chemist? Or a lab tech? Or some other non-scummy thing?

Sometimes I think long and hard when I read or hear writing that borders on the generic. Mostly other people’s writing, mostly in books, but sometimes online and sometimes in movies. And, also, sometimes my own. (I’m especially conscientious about my use of similes and sometimes think I should make bigger strides to stretch them out into the metaphors they wish to become.) I really hate when someone tries to fool me. (Including me.) Or when someone makes a lazy pass at telling a story and it ends up feeling like it’s fake. It feels like I’m being set up. And it tastes like a lie.

I am still thinking about the distinct pleasure I had in H’s company last weekend, how much I enjoy her view of the world and how it gets better in her telling of it, how I could sit for hours and listen to her talk like that, how I secretly wish I was so refreshingly succinct about things. I think about how she and I live different lives, but how, at the core of things, we’re not so different. Not really. Which makes me wish for her company ever more so. . .

In the very heart of things, I am contemplative. The way I get when my soul feels like it’s just awoken from a nap, lying there in the warm folds and soft heat of the blankets – content and peaceful. The way I get when the stars align and the world feels beautiful, when the things that matter take their place in the foreground and all else is filtered, blurring away at the edges.

[Title quote is from "I Heart Huckabees"]

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