not a day for the tough stuff
The air smells like giving up. Wait - strike that. The air smells like releasing what doesn't work, and returning to a smarter, less frenetic, more honest state of being.
When we woke this morning, I had the sudden sense that today was a day for farmers' markets - perhaps even farm-visiting - and wide open spaces, and walking under trees. For blankets and jackets in the great big world; specifically and profoundly, not for offices. I pushed the thought aside and made the long trek to this loft in Venice, because sick days do not exist in my line. I paused at a stoplight on the way over and, whimmishly, reclined my chair to watch the clouds overhead. Several beeps later, I realized I'd dozed off. Whoops.