Contrary to the title, this article is not an intellectual pursuit, but on the lighter side It is an effort, one that ties into why I'm writing this article.
It's finally here. The first truly shitty rainy day of the season. A week to go till December, I suppose that's been quite merciful. Though no fan of rain, I admit I fell in love, upon waking - the pitter-patter of rain against my window, the lights I'd left turned on jazzing up my window. My plants, my colorful, simplistic room. Bliss. I spent a good hour snuggled up in bed with a book (my go-to between the big fantasy trilogy I'm reading is a short anthology of Terry Pratchett's. Again, what bliss). Coffee. Breakfast. Good music. What's there to hate about rainy days, again?
Then, I spent the rest of morning and better part of noon working on my book. Slowly sliding into the last few chapters of the book, every comma has taken on an air of finality. Tragedy. Maybe, even, foreboding music. But writing went well. Keeps me on a fine razor's edge between mournfulness and relief (I'm so excited both to see the final product, and to move on to something new).
But that was done, too, which left...
...the rest of the big, gloomy rainy day. What to do?
Naturally, my go-to was, as most of my pastimes, intellectual. I watched a panel from Jordan Peterson's new smart-people-alliance thingy about the sexual revolution, that was fun. I then moved to catching up with my dear Lionel Shriver. I may not always agree with her politics, but if there's anyone who can make that irrelevant, it's her. The grace and cold-cut logic that woman writes with is, to me, sublime.
Then, I thought I'd pop on here and type a bit more. Tempting. Always so tempting, when no outdoors activity calls, to retreat to the intellectual pursuits. Writing, Organizing my ideas into words is one of the things I do best, when I set my mind to it, and it's an active exercise not to default to it.
Because you can't spend all day stuck behind a computer. Even if, intellectually, it's stimulating as fuck. Even if it's useful. Even if it means you put out some great writing. That's all well and good, but my body needs to know I'm here, too. I so often retreat inside my mind, I've developed a tendency of leaving my body behind. It survives, sure. It knows to eat and use the toilet on time. It goes through the motions, but how often does it actually get the chance to thrive? How often do I shush my busy mind, and give my body a chance to speak its ails, and truths?
So tempting as a brainy afternoon is, I'm forcing myself into a fully upright position as soon as this here is done. I'm giving my body a chance to move, to speak, to be stimulated. Because sitting for three hours and watching or reading something interesting is all good and well, but what's the poor body doing in that time? Not a whole lot.
Imma do some housework. Imma cook for a bit, and then I'm gonna dance, maybe get to a workout. do a long yoga practice I've secretly been craving. Hamlet's fun. There's an adaptation I've been meaning to watch for days now. Today finally looked like the day. Except my mind's been stimulated enough for now, and I need to give my body some room to speak, too, even as it sometimes stutters, and has a harder time getting the words out.
Hush, mind? How often do we say that? some of us, certainly, more often than is good for the world. Some of us, not enough. Time in this body is so short, I keep thinking I'm gonna remember it someday, floating free-spirit in the ether, and wish for a good back stretch, and find I no longer have that ability.
...will it count as phantom-pain?
