Self-Indulgent Day

A day of self-indulgence is liable to be a happy day.

A walk around the basement in the morning, listening to an audio tape from the library gives energy and fun, leftover lunch of African peanut chicken with mango chutney is delicious, a new mind map with a photo as the center starting point, a photo of the terrasse at La Rotonde with me sitting in a chair there made and printed, a poem to enter in a contest ready to submit, an hour's A&E DVD of a favorite author's book watched in the afternoon, and, if I can stay awake, the first part of "Memoirs of a Geisha," so long awaited (hated the book, but the film looks wonderful), for late tonight? . . . did the indulgences come from some sort of calm center that is happening in the waiting heart? I did not go out in the car, because I had a horrendous experience when the accelerator wouldn't work yesterday, for the second time. No one else here can replicate the situation. So "lockdown."

For the first time since I have been here, a day of "lockdown" was a day of self-indulgence and, so far, before the whole evening of caregiving begins, a day of well-being here in this house. The first. The niggling question: Is this another enthusiasm (in the Jonathan Edwards sense)? Am I a "mikka bouzu" (a 3-day monk, the person who enthusiastically enters a monastery only to leave 3 days later)? What is the inner work that was done today? How will I do on a challenging day? If I hew to the work, will challenging days just be challenging and not devastating?

Stay tuned.