2/7/06 - Hermitude suits me.

February 7, 2006 - Tuesday

2:25 PM - Hermitude suits me. As much as I like to be a social butterfly, there is something so wonderfully comforting and comfortable about hanging out in my house, listening to music and writing emails and composing letters and reading books and pretending I have no duties in all the world. I was supposed to work at the outdoor Ropes course all day (for a lovely sum that would have paid for most of my NYC plane ticket!), but when yesterday's weather caused the troops to move inside due to muddy conditions, I was off the schedule. Our indoor course at Ramsey is awesome, and I don't mind being in there for a couple of hours as long as I'm armed with my anti-migraine hat & sunglasses. A 9-hour workday in there would surely sicken me, however, and my understanding bosses recognized this and got someone to substitute for me. As I'm still groggy and sore-throated and recovering from this cold, I guess it's best that I didn't have to work a full day talking at the top of my voice and being entertaining and didactic. Siobhan was here for a lovely 5-day weekend (ha), and we exchanged the most thrilling collections of music ever. Now I have to be a hermit if I'm ever to listen to even 1/10th of my new collection. Living alone serves me well in terms of my social obligations and consistent need for Just Jan! time. The other night I had friends over after the bars closed, and we had a nice time singing and talking and laughing as we drank PBR well into the morning. If I had a roommate, I doubt I'd be as comfortable having friends over at 3 AM. In contrast, today I woke up at noon after a 5 AM bedtime and have yet to crawl out of my warm and cuddly pajamas. I've gotten some work done and have burned some Iron & Wine / Calexico for Jilly in the Netherlands and have given my mom the go-ahead on the cruise plans. I look around my sitting room/kitchen area and think of how gloriously spoiled and lucky I am. As much as it's not acceptable to say I'm attached to material possessions, I'll say that I am. Some folks believe that only two or three material objects are important to them because of the meaning they've acquired over the years. In my case, I love collecting things and organizing music and browsing through my magnets to such a degree that they all become important to me. I love that I have a house full of photographs of places and people that I love; the artwork I have displayed may not be the most grand, but I adore it and it's meaningful to me. Melted-down candles remind me of when I first picked them out and inhaled their scents; they also remind me of the times I've lit them on warm screened-in-porch nights as the breeze threatened to blow them out. Almost every day of my life, I think of how content I am. There are some things I wish for, but I don't consider them "missing." This reminds me of a funny conversational snippet, one which I'll provide for you and then make myself a bowl of soup. A few weeks (or months?) ago, I asked Richard Vinal if he had driven by me in town the night before: "Did you drive by me the other night? You have a Honda that's missing a bumper, right?" "Well, it doesn't miss it." The end. Currently listening : You Forgot It in People By Broken Social Scene Release date: 03 June, 2003