I really, really enjoy my down time. I can no longer sleep late for some inexplicable reason, but man, do I love doing nothing but watching the DVR and trying to locate movies I want to to watch on Netflix through the Playstation 3. This generally ends with my searching for a movie for about an hour, then cursing at the PS3 and giving up, only to watch a Lifetime movie or something I've seen a billion times. And then a nap occurs...ahh, naps.
I feel that naps without judgment are probably the best parts of getting really old. Well, that and the Senior Citizens Discount. I can literally sleep anywhere. When I was a senior in high school, my French class went to Paris. We were on a flight for about 11 hours, and I curled up in a little ball and slept for about 7 of those hours. Everyone else was cranky and jet-lagged when we landed. It was one of the few times in life I've ever been more energetic than those around me.
I have all these weekend plans that I would like to do. I want to go to the art museum or a movie or to one of the many festivals that seem to occur in the Birmingham and surrounding areas. I want to clean my closet so I can actually locate my winter clothes; I want to vacuum, even though it makes me dizzy because my body seems to reject all manner of housework; I want to wash the dogs, even though I will probably need an Epi-pen to recover from that. And what do I do? I watch the DVR, movies like "Seed of Chucky" and "Superman III," and before I know it, it's Sunday night, which even more so than when I was in school, is the most depressing night of the week.
I have been in the weirdest mood this weekend. I have gone from cranky to singing to sleepy to anxious. I went to the eye doctor yesterday and found out I have to have really expensive contact lenses because of a stupid astigmatism, I have an optic nerve dreuism, which really sounds made up and doesn't mean much of anything, but when it comes to your eyes, you get a little concerned when doctors throw out a term that sounds like you're German or in some kind of cult.
I'm also concerned about some family stuff that I won't get into right now, because it's not my place to, but someone that I care about very much in my family, may have a malignancy. We won't know anything for at least a week, which means that my thoughts are left to create bad scenarios and try to picture five moves ahead, and there's no need to do anything right now except pray...which I am doing, and I do have faith that everything will turn out okay. If you're reading this, you don't have to pray if that's not your scene, but just send out general good thoughts to the universe. It can't hurt.
A lot of times when I am scared, I turn to quotes and the words of people to whom my dad introduced me, and when he was dying, those very same words gave me enlightenment and a sense of peace and acceptance. I leave you with the words of Emily Dickinson," “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.” Let us all cling to faith and hope.
On a lighter note, because I don't want you to leave my blog super bummed, I wish that if Smitty can't hear me in the kitchen, he would tell me, because otherwise, I'm talking for five minutes, assuming that he hears me perfectly, and when he tells me he didn't hear me at all, it is REALLY annoying. I assume this is some kind of backhanded punishment because according to him "I talk all the time," but seriously, irritating.
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