Beautiful, sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. I vaguely recall that I spent much of it at work, but I most clearly remember the moments outside, soaking up the sunshine. The rest was just meetings, reports, and email. It all becomes a sort of mnemonic white noise, after a while.
Although, I did have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon! I was supposed to check in with her about two months ago, but life sort of happened. It does that.
Anyway, I arrived early, so instead of lounging in the lobby for half an hour, I sat outside and basked some more. Then, of course, my doctor was running behind, so I sat in the lobby for half an hour. And promptly dozed off. Why can’t I sleep at night, in my bed, but I can sleep sitting up in an extremely awkward chair? It’s a mystery.
After getting new prescriptions, the better half and I stopped by Uwajimaya on the way home. Always dangerous. I went a little crazy. Daifuku, mackerel, various seasonings, mushrooms… I managed to stop myself at two bags worth of groceries, but I’m pretty sure the fish guys think I’m certifiable.
It’s the octopus. Ever since I watched a documentary about how smart and friendly and wonderful octopi are, I can’t eat them. I just can’t. But they are very tasty. But they are as smart as cats! I have cats. So I stared at the tentacles in the fish case and felt deeply conflicted for a disconcerting length of time. It’s hard to know if I am over-thinking things, or not thinking enough. Perhaps I am thinking too much about how much I think about things. Do other people do this?
There was a period of time in which I was convinced that my parents were getting weirder as they got older. Now, I know better. It’s not that they’ve gotten weirder, it’s that they no longer care if everyone knows it. I know better, because I’m getting there. The other day I realized that I was banging on the top of my head with my fist, muttering “shut up! Just shut up!” Not because demons were demanding that I commit a bloody slaughter, or whatever, but just because my brain was nagging me. And I didn’t even care that I was thumping myself on the head in public. Whatever. My brand of crazy runs towards occasional, moderate self-abuse. Could be worse.
I’ll be 40 in just over a month. I had my one year work anniversary, about two weeks ago. And right this instant, I have a belly full of sushi and a cat asleep on my legs. Life could be worse. It could be better, but this, right here, is not bad. I want to capture this–a warm cat, the memory of sun on the back of my head, laughing at D’s utter bafflement with his sex life, this neutral instant of suspended time between one thing and another–and encase it in a snow-globe, to hold and remember. The highs and lows are too high and too low. Sometimes, I just want to find the center and stay for a bit.