Say it,
polaaahkooo. It is Bosnian for slow down. You have to say it like that though, puuulaaaahhhkoh, to get the proper effect. This 3 day work week before the holiday is feeling like a semi-permanent downshift. I could write an entirely different blog about myself, bikes, and slowing down, and I encourage your wittiest barbs toward that end (I will get you all eventually, running you down one by one on the long slow march to the grave!) but that is not my point here today.

I laid in bed staring at the pre-dawn ceiling for a good hour this morning, too excited about being able to stay in bed to get back to sleep. Nowhere to go, not much to do, just wake up eventually and send some pre-emptive e-mails to get the work world scrambling off on some subterfuge, some red herring to keep them at bay until Thursday- not that anyone else is trying too hard to get much done.

James Taylor is singing on T.V. this morning and even as his cliche music takes me back to a Wyoming campfire and a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl I can’t help but look at his eyes and think to myself, “Now there’s a difficult son of a bitch if I ever saw one”. I’m certain all the shiny white people swaying before him see it differently and well they should.

With a stretch of downtime before me I think about writing a book, joining the Y, making room in the garage for rocking out, volunteering at Nims Middle School, meeting some nice new lady friends, going to Jimmy Carter’s Sunday School class, framing some artwork, making some artwork, dropping in on my buddy’s Jungian Dream Interpretation class, and of course riding my bikes.

When push comes to shove, I will probably be seeing a lot more of this ceiling.



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