I’ve been busy doing these days, and I haven’t had time to think.
I hate that.
Thinking is my jam. I can think a morning away and sometimes, sometimes, I will write out those thoughts for you fine people to read.
But recently, I haven’t been thinking about anything.
And I’m at a loss for what to write about.
Should I write about how I spent the last few mornings watching saved episodes of Girls and Downton Abbey, and that I’m planning on doing the same with Shameless and Parenthood later today and this week? Should I write about how I really love having a cat around to warm my lap when I am still, even though he only did that once, and all the other times that I stroke his fur he rears back and bites my hand? Should I write about how we went to a basketball game and my kids got on the Jumbotron and that my girlfriend and I sat in our seats and shared what we saw on our phones and laughed and talked instead of really watch the game except to yell “C’MON, MAN!” when the players missed their free throws and cheer when they made them? And that our kids have all the teeth appointments this week and if I’m not picking them up from school every day, I’m dropping them off early for something or taking them later? How about that my husband and I were on a 10-day detox cleanse and I bailed out early because I didn’t feel good? What about the fact that not only am I tired with winter, I’m tired of everybody talking about how they are tired with winter? Should I write about how I got my hair done for the first time in three months and It. Was. Heaven?
Busynesss begets doing and little to no thinking. Busyness reminds me of the olden days that were filled with activities instead of thinking. And when I think of the olden days, I think of when the kids were little and I was younger, and when I think about that, I get a little wistful and I miss them, and I miss me. And I don’t want to miss their littleness and my youngness. I want to love their tween- and teen-ness, and my 40-ness. And to tell you the truth, the olden days around here weren’t really all that worthy of wistfulness.
So it’s okay. Even a thinker needs rest from thinking now and then. Even if the rest means that you’re watching TV in the morning instead of thinking and writing, which would normally bring crushing guilt with a side of self-loathing. Even if the rest means that you are saving your energy for the hours ahead that you will be running and doing.
So I’m going to enjoy that rest.
|Isn’t it cute how I labeled myself a thinker?|