Focusing in on the Now

I don’t know what I want.

I mean, the big things… they’re still fine. More or less. The long term things. The five-year plan is still there.

It’s the short-term things that are getting to me, right now. What do I want tonight? Or next weekend? I’m not worried about the large P Plans, it’s the small p plans. And not just what do I want. What do I want that I can actually have?

I put some music on, and went for a nice, long, socially-distanced walk. It was either that or turn my Fitbit in forĀ  gross incompetence.

I felt a little bit guilty for taking the time to do it. I need the exercise. But the push for Progress is always there. And that’s usually Progress toward the big, far-away goals.

I’m missing out on the impulsive, right now things. Go out dancing, go get a sandwich, and ooh, nachos. I know a place that makes a plate of nachos big enough for a whole table of of people. Hope they’re still there, when this is over. Or community jazz night. (Otherwise known as “how many people can you cram into the basement of the same bar that serves those nachos, before the fire department comes over to complain and steal my nachos?”) (What? It’s a much catchier name than “super spreader event.”)

I find myself coming up with ideas.

Like, I should start making resin paperweights with cat hair.

I could sell them on Etsy.

Or I should learn lock picking. That’s probably a skill that looks good on a post-apocalyptic resume. What else? Flame thrower juggling? Electric eel racing?

Maybe I should learn to cook. Seems like I could cook for friends and still have friends when I’m done. I mean, there’s a global pandemic going on. Maybe it really isn’t my cooking. There are lots of things that could have caused your symptoms. Dehydrated egg, anyone?

Well, maybe not.

I suppose I could draw some parrots. That worked well last time. (Oops, you see how that slipped back toward “progress?”) I meant, I could sit around in my hammock and breathe air.

Seriously… what the hell do I do for fun, these days? Is there such a thing as easy, meaningless fun, anymore? Seems like everything I come up with has some kind of pressure involved.


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