I'm finding out that I don't like writing at my desk. It's a good thing that all I have for a computer is a laptop because there's a little corner of my living room, between the shelf of records and the stereo equipment where one of my favorite wingback chairs is sitting, and I can't think of a more comfortable spot for my tush. I can see out of my picture window perfectly, am at a horrible angle with the television and at my head's height are greats like Janice Joplin, Bob Marley, Pink Floyd, Little Feet, etc, on vinyl. Maybe they are talking to me. I hope they never shut up. This morning one of my favorite things happened. I woke up and couldn't remember what day it was. I couldn't even remember what time it was or when I had gone to bed. What had I done the night before?? It didn't last long. My memory came back to me, but for that little moment I must have come from some remarkably real and other world because it wiped my memory clean. I wish I could remember where I was. Sometimes I do, this time I didn't. Has your alarm ever sounded like it was yelling at you in a different language? This happens to me often as well. (I hope this is never used as evidence against me)
I felt this way right after I retired. I didn't have to keep track of whether it was an A day or a B day at school. I didn't have to drag my butt out of bed to grade at 4 a.m. because I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer the night before. It's the ultimate feeling, the bliss of Neverland, like you don't have to be a grownup any longer.
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