Meditation is Good for the Soul, Nightmares Not So Much

Sitting is a healthy thing to do. I try to do it as often as possible. Sometimes, I challenge myself and try to stay awake for my entire sitting session. This usually requires me to do something else as I sit to distract my mind from the fact that I am in the sitting position. I might go sit at the movies, or sit in the park and watch a live band, or maybe sit on the couch and read a book. More often than not, for me at least, sitting leads to snoozing, and snoozing leads to dreaming, and dreaming is not always a restful thing to do in the middle of my sitting.

But I do like to sit and think or sit and write, so here I am gracing you with these words at the end of my unfortunately not very unusually busy day. I have been thinking about this moment since my feet hit the floor at five o'clock this morning.

I'm finally sitting for the first time today. Unless you count the two hours I spent at the pediatric dentist's office, which I don't because they kept calling me up to the desk to inform me that my insurance wasn't going to cover the entire cost of Matthew's treatment, or Jacob's one cavity had magically turned into two cavities since they took x-rays just last week. Every time I got up, I would lose my seat and spend ten minutes standing, waiting for another seat to open up, and I was told several times that I couldn't sit in a particular seat because somebody's wayward four-year-old was using that seat even though I knew that the four-year-old in question was actively climbing on top of the water fountain, pushing the button and spraying water all over the people in the back row who were miserable to be wet, but HEY, at least they had a seat!

Actually, I guess I did sit down for lunch. I dined on (fried) shrimp and finished the crossword in less than thirty minutes. The grocery guys snagged my paper as I was returning to work and cheated off me. Trick's on them though. I'm pretty sure I got 11-down wrong.

Does driving count as sitting? I did plenty of that on Bell St in rush hour traffic. Anybody who's ever tried to cross Plains on Bell St. during rush hour knows that you'll probably spend a nervous few minutes with your tail hanging out into the intersection, praying that the opposing traffic doesn't get pissy and knock off your bumper. I got rear-ended there last month by a guy talking on his cell-phone. No damage, but there was a nasty black smear on my otherwise flawless back-side for a while. It made me feel dirty, and not in a fun way.

My brain is already going into shut-down mode, folks. My eyelids are droop droop drooping and it's getting harder to move my fingers across the keys. I keep re-reading things just to be sure I got it right.

There's a cardboard box sitting on the foot of the guest bed just a few feet away. Somebody has scrawled the word "WINTER" across it with a fat red marker. For a moment, I thought to myself, "Who is Winter? And why is she storing her clothes in my guestroom?"

I think I'll go take a nap.
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