lazy

"Freedom is messy."--Donald Rumsfeld

I have a plan for my two months off. I want to work on my French every day and get it in shape so I can take the Praxis exam and be certified to teach two subjects. I also want to refresh long-lost Latin skills, and continue building a vocabulary of Tagalog words and phrases. And perhaps pick up where I left off in Arabic.

I want to get in mad physical shape too. If I'm spending at least another year at The Booker I want young people to see me and think "Gulp! I am not fucking off in that guy's room." I want to get back to running 6 or 7 miles at a pop, where I was two years ago before hurting my foot.

I want to read two or three hundred pages every day. I want to meditate. I want to make day-trips to Philly, NYC, DC, and Pittsburgh to visit museums. I want to sharpen my guitar playing.

I want to clean out and re-organize all the kitchen cabinets, which have become ridiculously haphazard in just one year at our new place. There are cans of refried beans mixed in amongst the glasses and tea cups. The food processor has bits and pieces located in six or seven different places. The silverware drawer has been lost to an invasion of hair ties, rubber bands, expired batteries, and tiny packets of cheap ketchup, duck sauce, and insect repellent spritzers.

This is day 3 of time off. I have done exactly nothing but think about my goals. Of course I hurt my back last Saturday so I can't do much--and Cha's car blew up and she's using mine so I can't sally forth and buy things I need to tidy the house. I have watched a film in French without subtitles and done some reading. But it's time to get serious about leisure.