Today I have an eye appointment - the what now has become an annual pilgrimage to the doctor to discover when the need will finally arrive for glasses.
In getting ready for this - and because I don't know what will happen today while there - I did something I haven't done more than twice a year for the last 5 years: I took a sick day.
I got up this morning knowing that I wasn't going to work at the usual time. It's amazing how slowly the morning has progressed since then. I'm not quite sure whether to chalk it up to unmotivation or simply a sense of "I don't really have to be anywhere in particular".
This always makes me question my commitment to anything, of course. One should always practice something whether or not one is on a schedule. Anytime I don't, I start to wonder if it is something I really wanted to do in the first place.
But that's as it may be. Maybe, perhaps maybe, it might worth considering that every once in a while, simply being slow about getting moving and doing is not so much an indicator of any laziness as it is the simple self courtesy of allowing one's self, periodically, to simply wander into life instead of being enmeshed in it.
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