The meh of May has lingered into the jejune of June. There is a suffocating feeling of lassitude, spiked with apathy and salted with guilt as I slump inside staring out the window.
Summer has finally arrived for true, with the sweet taste of oranges and the bright blistering heat of the California sun off-set by the deep air conditioned cool of coffee galleries. Everywhere, everywhere there are indolent flies and not enough sunscreen.
Two weeks ago, it was raining and I turned the heater on as the temperature dropped to 48 degrees.
Today I woke up early, too hot to sleep late, and went outside to drink iced coffee and swing in the hammock. There were no early-morning goosebumps at 6 a.m.; instead, the air was already sticky with the promise of sweat and dehydration.
Today is Saturday, my favorite day of the week! Yet I feel strangely unanchored, What to do, now? I feel as if I could fall into the abyss of this unstructured time and sleep until the Second Coming.
Or Monday, whichever comes first.
But what then?
I would arise refreshed only to return to the indentured servitude of my regular schedule with nothing to show but sleep creases in my face and a perma-dent in my mattress.
All the while these muddy thoughts suck me down into the indecision of doing nothing, I am aware of how small and petty a problem this is, not knowing what to do with my free time. This is the first-iest of first world problems, I scold myself, and yet I still cannot seem to break free in order to simply be…
May you fare better with your Saturday adventures!