Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
The morning mull...
While I sit here in the front office/library./meditation room, the television is merrily burbling in the back (front) room. I feel guilty that those folks are acting their hearts out, and I am not paying them any attention at all, other than background noise barely audible over the fan that is blowing mercifully cool air about. It is 10:45 AM. I have been up for an hour and 15 minutes. When I can, I sleep in. Isn't that the ultimate statement for a retired person? Consider that for 40 years, I rose before the sun to travel, sometimes more than an hour one way, to a windowless office, often without the requisite 9 hours my body needs, took naps in my car at lunchtime, and came home to husband and/or children who required more care, I feel I deserve my sloth. Dogs are not particularly happy since it seems unlikely I will rise soon to fill their bowls. They look up hopefully every time the clicking of the keyboard ceases. No hurry. No one is looking for me for, oh, another hour and a half. I had my semiweekly shower yesterday, and the bed is (somewhat) made. Big question is the usual what-to-wear. I have this dandy long black and white striped skirt and the top I ordered for it in abeyance. Also have a sweet tunic in creamy yellow I could layer over white leggings. Or the new gray leggings with a white shirt tunic. Oh, this is all very exhausting. I will just surprise myself. Soon.