Sunday, February 5, 2012

YOU DON'T WRITE YOU DON'T CALL

Saturdays tend to go right by me. After getting up in time to moderate occupylive.org and get to the Upper East Side by 10:15, I am somewhat logy the rest of the day. A grey day, like today, does not help the feelings of being displaced, lost, and just floating along. The kitties are fast asleep. I just got out of a long-ish bath. What else is to be done but nap?

And now we are on to Sunday.

I know. You don't write, you don't call.

I just have this free-floating anxiety today. I am disturbed and overly saddened by Miss Becky's loss of her kittyfriend, Lola, yesterday? And I overwhelmed by myself, as I so often am? I have not heard from or about Pam in days and I have no idea how she is? Am I suffering from a bit of under-exercise and no yoga? Do I think I should be watching the SuperBowl?

I will say I really want to climb into bed and take an afternoon nap. What I am going to do is put on my shoes and coat and go for a walk.

Stay tuned.

Okay. I walked. I took a short, sweet nap, interrupted by some football fan screaming drunk before the game. But I wrote and watched Downton Abbey with Tupelo instead of watching the SuperBowl. No regrets on that front.

Now, I am ready for some true sleep. I am posting this so that y'all don't think I am sliding into a bummer or anything.

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