sunday afternoon
I get depressed on Sundays often. Growing up, Sundays were pretty unpleasant for me and I am sure plenty of people know what I’m talking about. The fight about what I may and may not wear to church, church, and then the numbing nothingness of Sunday afternoon – with Monday morning and school rapidly approaching. Geez!
Today I medicated myself with a 3km walk along the beach in the sun. Exercise and sunshine are such a reliable remedy for me – I am always mad at myself for not thinking of it sooner.
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It’s been a really busy two months or so. I handed in two essays for my Hons. course last weekend, one on one of the Canterbury Tales and one on Middlemarch. I am beginning to think this degree is a mistake. It took so much to generate those two, and I barely made the deadline. (Also, they were entirely inconsequential. I’m not expecting to be footnoted or cited or anything). There are about 6 more before October. But the 19th century literature is like a satisfying dessert.
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I got my hair cut on Thursday last week at HAND. The guy who was cutting my hair wore a beanie until I asked him to remove it – (I just wanted an indication of his trustworthiness). Further complications were that he was wearing a tight white Ed Hardy teeshirt with a gemstone skull on it, and had a tattoo on his forearm in cursive that said sixty nine. For some, that would have clinched the deal, but I was uncertain. It turned out well though. I look like I did when I was dating my husband, as a nineteen year old. It’s a nice feeling.
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Yesterday when we were walking along the beachfront, we passed two people drinking out of paper cups and talking – the lady called out to us and asked us if we wanted some Chai for our walk. She was American, and he looked Middle Eastern and he was holding what looked like a Koran or something, and the combination of free Chai and the Koran immediately registered on my radar as a potential threat to my morning walk – my knee jerk reaction was to say no thanks and avoid a long discussion where Islam or whatever was for sale. Thankfully, the lady engaged us (it turns out we knew her vaguely from the bus) and I was spared the opportunity to indulge my prejudices. They weren’t connected – the Koran guy had also been offered Chai and was just chatting to Sarah, who is a yoga instructor from California. I’ve met her several times in the last year and she is always remarkable – full to the brim of the best type of confidence and so friendly. Her Chai was tasty and it was really wonderful to stand in the sun with two other humans who were completely different to us. She was there trying to get rid of the last bit of her big urn full of the Chai she makes for her Saturday morning students. We chatted a bit about yoga – I got her card, which had a picture of Ganesh on it. I asked her if she was Hindu – and then kicked myself for wanting to classify her with a word. She joked with me and called herself ‘undo’, not Hindu. She’s offering a really good deal – a hundred bucks for limitless classes over a ten day period. But I am afraid of yoga.
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