Let me start out all Life Coachy and ask you something. How often are you apologizing for stuff? And if you are apologizing for a lot, like let’s say…oh, um, EVERY TIME YOU TALK TO ME…then, what does that say? That maybe you should stop apologizing and just stop doing the shit that makes you have to apologize in the first place? Or maybe possibly you are not in the least sorry or else you wouldn’t keep doing that over and over again and apologizing ad nauseum? Am I right?
Or maybe I should stop being such a fuckwit for still talking to someone who always does stuff that needs apologies for it afterward? Which, yeah. You got me.
When I was a kid, there were days in the summer that I think back on as “at home days.” They didn’t happen with me very often because I was mostly busy with dance and stuff, but every once in a while I would have an awesome little kid day where I had nothing to do. I would stay home and do things like take a shower, get dressed in shorts and a tank top and sit out on my back porch and let the sun dry my hair. And I would lie in the grass in the back yard and pop the heads off of dandelions. If it got too hot, I would eat an ice cream sandwich. If I wanted to read for hours straight, I kicked back and did it. Sometimes, as a teen, my friends would show up and I’d hop in the car and we’d go to the store to get a slurpee, just for something to do, and even that would have a meandering quality about it. A whole day of nothing to do and nowhere to go and the day seeming 92 hours long and loving the whole thing TO DEATH.
I can’t remember the last time I had such a day. Even on days that are plan-free, I still end up thinking of shit I need to do, like grocery shop or run to the bank or the post office or return emails or phone calls or fold my laundry or something like that. You’d think I was a grown up or something, the way I can act sometimes.
This weekend, though? I had a meandering day. THREE TIMES.
I slept well and then got up when I wanted to get up.
I opened the windows and read a book in the sunlight for three hours straight.
We sat on our front stoop and ate watermelon.
I sat on my front porch and read Bitch magazine cover to cover.
I wore a sundress and no shoes and pulled weeds in my yard.
We went to a movie.
I had potato salad.
Ok, so I had potato salad, and cole slaw, and macaroni salad.
We barbecued and then snuggled up later that night and Nordic Boy’s hair smelled like summer smoke.
We went to brunch with our pals and then for a long walk afterward in no particular direction.
We talked and talked, about nothing. Our favorite topic.
We also didn’t talk. Our second favorite topic.
I stared off into nothingness a whole hell of a lot.
I didn’t wear a coat ONE TIME.
I didn’t think about work, or responsibilities, or mortality. These are all things that I think about way too much, usually. I am so perky that way.
I sang “Simply the Best,” full out, without any irony at all, with open windows, probably scaring the neighbors.
I dug out old videos that Nordic Boy and I had made over the years (not THOSE KIND, shut up) and watched them and was all awonder at our baby faces.
I put my face into some lilacs and smelled them up.
I watched bees buzzing.
I drew nonsensical drawings.
I painted my toes.
We went to a bookstore and sat there and read until they closed.
We walked to the local hardware store and back, with ice cream sandwiches.
Seriously, people. Why have I not been doing more of this? I LOVE IT.