We all build our own cages.
I’ve spent many a minute this day composing lists including but not limited to: ‘things to do before vacation’, ‘things to pack for vacation’, ‘this week’s meals’, ‘frell, when vacation ends it will be December’, ‘massive cleaning (revised)’ and the ‘I’ve put this off forever’ list. In fact, I already posted privately today on the necessity of creating a list for all of my lists (there’s a web 2.0 tool for that, right?).
In the midst of my bullet-pointed craze, it occurred to me that, in spite of all of my lists and budgets and plans, I may still fail at this vacation thing. I don’t remember how to relax. I don’t remember how to act out, how to be adventurous and carefree. Fling the cage doors open and I borrow deeper into the corner, just to feel the comfortingly cold bars at my back.
Since this mini-epiphany about a half hour ago, accompanied by a rather spectacular, albeit demented, head-turning snort/laugh of despair, I’ve been sitting dumbly at my desk trying figuring out where I went so wrong. When did I forget how to live?
Sing it, Chris.
Playing in Puddles 