we are like pendulums, our arms swinging at our sides...and i am a good little clock

i'm sitting in my bed, using my laptop for warmth. the window is open above my head, and the air is crispy and smells slightly of green things and detergent even though it's coming from the center of boston. i'm drinking a muddy cup of kiskadee coffee, and the only things i HAVE to do today are ride horses, drive on the highway with my windows open, and buy fresh produce. gift day.

lately, i've been thinking of these "free days" - you know, the ones probably not filled with work, but only spent doing as you please - as a chance to develop a mental catalogue. each day you choose to spend as close to your version of perfection as possible is filed away, stored for a time when you can't seem to recall what a good day is like (this probably occurs on a thursday after four days of being mowed down in the office/classroom/what have you). i've met a lot of people recently who seem to have surrendered the things that make them happiest for fear of appearing selfish...but isn't part of balance being able to pick a perfect day from your list and live it, soup to nuts, picking a la carte style from the things that make you do a little internal dance? ("You do Fosse, Fosse, Fosse! You do Martha Graham, Martha Graham, Martha Graham! Or Twyla, Twyla, Twyla! Or Michael Kidd, Michael Kidd, Michael Kidd, Michael Kidd! Or Madonna, Madonna, Madonna!... but you keep it all inside.")

onward!