Saturday, November 5, 2016

Max, leader in rest

Sometimes I wish I could be as carefree as a cat.

Max's biggest concern each day is when the kibble's going to hit the bowl, and he can count on that with quite a bit of regularity, so I doubt he sweats over whether it's going to happen.

Seriously, I should just hibernate each year when October comes rolling in.

Sure, it seems innocent enough, October First.

But before you know it, Bailey's stressing over what to be for Halloween, the time and money put into a costume, all the parties and events....and we haven't even got to Thanksgiving or Christmas.

I'm just one big cranky pants this time of year.

One small thing I can pat myself on the back for is that I've already purchased my airfare for Christmas, which is usually not the case when the calendar reads November 5th.

I started out my day, this quiet Saturday morning, quaintly enough. I rolled awake from my dream that the Kennedys had Dolly Parton in a display case in their home (I promise I don't do recreational drugs), and was quickly greeted by my white-pawed buddy, who made the harrowing journey from the foot of the bed to my admiring face, where he nudged me with his wet nose and pushed my hand against his head.

I picked up one of the books I recently found at Goodwill, and I literally had a smile on my face because the writing is so good.

And then I felt the restlessness creep in.

I tried to ignore it. I thought, I'll regroup, take a quick break, and then settle back into reading.

I made a wholllle pot of coffee.

I got back in bed.

I eyed the book. But I didn't pick it up.

And then the restlessness, the self-shaming, the arresting of the weekend's potential for rest settled in.

I tried to watch Felicity. I tried to get into my Facebook newsfeed. I Sudoku-ed.

But I couldn't figure out which square held the 3 and which one held the 7, so I closed out the browser tab and wandered over here, to where I put words in the universe and hopefully feel better.


In eight days I'm supposed to complete a half marathon with two wonderful girlfriends of mine.

I couldn't tell you the last time I exercised. I think it was about three weeks ago.


I haven't touched my mail-in ballot.

I have an hour and a half long interview to transcribe.

Prayers to write for tomorrow (I love doing that, though).

Eight thousand books to read. Yes, they all need to be read. Right. Now.

Meanwhile this is literally Max's stance in life right now:

See what I mean? Care. Free.

By the way, I look forward to all your texts and messages asking me if I'm OK, given my latest blog posts. (I mean that. I appreciate your concern, even if it does make me squirm a little to admit that I'm in a bit of a funk to the point that it makes others concerned. I'm sure you can relate -- we find ourselves comfortable even in being vulnerable, admitting our unease in life, but as soon as someone says they're worried about us, our hackles go up, like we've been spotted in that state which we've already admitted to being in. Which is weird, and I don't know quite why it makes me uneasy. Except that I think, in the way we're willing to criticize ourselves but don't want to hear others' negative opinion of us, we want to only be concerned for our seasons of struggle, but we don't want to cause alarm in others.)

Of course I don't really wish to be a cat. I like my ability to have complex thinking (most of the time). And, sure, I love to sleep, but I love to sleep so that I can be rested to have so much alert time being awake. A cat's schedule is like: munch, munch, back to sleep. Find a new spot in the house to rest, sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep.

My schedule is more like: read, think, make a mess, write, stitch, eat something unhealthy, drink a beer, sing, daydream about reading, daydream about Iowa, swoon over Alex, smooch on Max, sleep for 10 - 12 hours, repeat.



I just hate all this stress hijacking my Saturday.

Saturday's my day. No one should be able to hijack it.

So I guess I'm going to do my best to hijack this hijacking and make sure that I enjoy the heck out of today.

I can push my exercise to tomorrow. At the very least, until I find my iPod. And to be frank, I'm not in the mood to search for it currently.

I can, shame free, keep a stack of books next to me, and read read read.

I can clean corners of my room not because I need to, to be a better person, but because it will make me feel more at peace.

And my ballot? Well, I'll get to that. But don't worry, I'm for sure voting.

I've refilled my coffee. It's warm and a little more earthy than I'd like, but hey. It's here.

I don't know if I'm ready to read just yet, but I really would like to keep sitting here in my bed under this cozy blankie. Admiring Max as he, as we type, is searching for his next sleeping arena.

I'm 31 years old. I don't want my Saturdays to be hijacked. I'm too grown up for this. I don't know. That made sense in my head. I guess what I'm trying to say is I've found a million ways to find joy in my adult life, so I should be able to grab hold of this Saturday and make it good, right???

So for now, I'm going to listen to my Garrison Starr (CHECK HER OUT), I'm going to keep my eye on Max, and follow his lead.

Maybe a little less sleeping, since I just clocked 10 or so hours in Dolly Parton-laced slumber. But if anyone on this earth knows how to rest, it's the regal felines.

Lead on, white-pawed one. Lead on. Lead us to rest, away from beating ourselves up for everything we're doing wrong, or not accomplishing at a great enough clip.

May each of you find fuzzy, kitty rest today. Be well, be kind to yourself. (And find some time to fill in that ballot, if you please....)


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