I'm Out of Tickets
I accidentally left my copy of The Body Keeps the Score outside in the rain.
When I found it on the deck, it had swelled to three times its size and frozen solid. A Facebook friend suggested that I let it thaw in a glass, then drink the contents: "It's the new liquidbook series!"
It wasn't a terrible idea.
This morning I went to Barnes and Noble so I could pick up a new copy. I jotted a few sentences in my journal while the baby played at the train table. Then he got bored and started pulling books off the shelf. I followed him around the store, cleaning up his messes but otherwise letting him go. We had a whole Sunday ahead of us, and it was as good a diversion as any.
My free time feels like carnival tickets. I've worked hard all week and saved up my allowance--enough to buy ten tickets, but no more. Reading a book costs five tickets. Writing, half a dozen. I could splurge and spend all my tickets on an afternoon of painting, but then I wouldn't have any left over for a nap.
I have to use them wisely, calculate all the possible options. Because Heaven only knows when the carnival will return to town.
Of course, life can't be a carnival all the time. What would be the fun in that? So I try to stay present in the moment and enjoy what comes. And leave my books indoors, where they'll be safe from the rain and my own frazzled forgetfulness.