This morning I was in a funk. I looked at my to do list and didn't want to do anything on it. I should have gone swimming. I should have walked to the library to print out some documents to drop in the mail. I should have planned this week's meals and gone grocery shopping. I tried to bake adorable woodland cutout cookies to blog about, but the dough wasn't cooperating. And when I got around to baking them, they came out too puffy. And when I picked one up I found that they were crumbly. They ended up looking like bloated forest amputees. I'd have to find a different recipe. Whine.
I stopped moping for a minute to realize that even while living at a slower pace, I still feel pressure to "be productive" and "successful". And why? What's it all for? The fridge is stocked with food. The house is happy and lived-in. No one cares whether or not I "got things done" today. Putting the chores on my list off for another day will not stop the world.
So I axed the to do list and took out my mandolin and a salvaged cookie. And commenced living. At a snail's pace.
I also arranged for a date of swimming laps and eating Ethiopian food for dinner tonight. Until then, I just might take a nap.
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