Okay, the post about Hitting Pause...? I lied. I admit it. Chalk it up to wishful thinking. The minute I believe the post-chemo super crud is abating, I tear around resuming and inventing tasks and projects for home and work. Making up for lost time.
Today, dear husband and I walked up the sunny side of the street, on our way to the farmers market and our favorite shop, Olde Towne Butcher. Cooking projects top my list when my taste buds show glimmers of returning.
We passed a doorway where a young man stood half in, half out. He puffed on a blue enamel pen-like thing, and a tiny cloud of white mist lingered. Dear husband explained it as we walked on: a marijuana vaporizer. I smelled nothing, but as he described it, I wouldn't - everything smokey disappears.
An hour later, on our way back, laden with foodstuffs, I looked over at the same house and saw the young man lounging on the narrow porch, on a folding chaise, just listening to some Beatles wafting out through the open door. No book, no computer - not even a smart phone. Just chillin', enjoying some happy.
My envy was wide and deep. Not for the high - the few times pot has been in my vicinity, I've wandered off; it isn't for me. It was seeing someone able to wake up on a Saturday, kick back, be so intentional about enjoying doing nothing. I wanted to wander in.
That kind of permission-giving, the kind that says "go right ahead and joyfully do nothing," doesn't live here in my head, not even now that it's bald.
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