Friday, April 8, 2011
I feel fidgety. Like a kid in a long winding line for an unknown attraction. I haven't left the city in months. My dad texted me this shot of the watery sky from his airplane seat this morning and I wanted to be there beside him. Even though he's going to Houston. And he'll be in meetings all day.
Nick and I are taking a generous two weeks off to backpack in Peru after our wedding, but I can't last til late September doing the 40 hour thing. Wednesday, I rode my bike downtown to Funeral Home Yoga with my rolled-up mat jutting out from my messenger bag, making an ominous shadow creature of me on the street below. After class, I biked north to meet Leslie for dinner and we caught up while the sun set on the couples, joggers, and dogs crossing the plate glass in front of us. With a two-beer-buzz, I biked back to my house, through the ghetto in the balmy darkness. I felt at home in these moments more than I have in months. The best way I can describe it is an increased sense of alertness, like a fog rising or breaking.
Dread has creeped in, about work, the future, money. A coworker always tells me that money is paper and people are real, but I still can't shake this blue wash over everything around me. I've decided to take a long weekend later this month - if not now, never. May through July is federal grants season, and taking time off then will be at my own time-management peril. And there seems to be no sense in taking time off in August, the month preceding the wedding.
So I am excited to spend two days reminding myself that money is paper and people are real. You know what else is real? Farmers' markets. My food processor. My cat. The neighborhood. The bike path.
Hopefully it'll be restorative and get me feeling positive about work the following Monday. Money might be paper and all, but it's still pretty real.