Lassitude

I'm not a very productive person.

Today, for example, I got up dutifully for yoga at 7.30, then worked out on the treadmill. I took some packages to the post office, came home, and took a long nap. At 3 or so I got up, dallied about in my studio for a few minutes, and then decided that I was too terrible a painter even to begin. I didn't have the heart for it. I could have done something more productive, I suppose. LIke the dishes. But instead I sat on my couch with watermelon and cookies and watched the end of "All About Eve." Great Bette Davis film. When it was over, I thought about going to the climbing gym, but had too little energy for that. So I did the dishes, set up my stereo (which I've been meaning to do for about a month), sprayed Febreeze all over the old carpet that I got from my dad's house, which smells of old dog piss in the summer months, and finally settled down to shoppingfor camping gear online. Very dull. At least I'm not getting all dressed up and heading out to a bar. I used to do that, in darker times, when my self-esteem was lower. Now I just accept my lassitude, my sadness and loneliness, and try to cope.

It's not much of a life. At least I'm making some lovely women friends. I have a big crush on a guy in my climbing group, but it really doesn't make any sense. He's not at all educated, hardly reads, and has told me very clearly that he won't get involved with any woman until his daughter is out of high school--two years or more from now. He flirts terribly, and I'm very drawn to him for some reason. I don't know why, exactly. My girlfriend, Elliot, tells me to get over it. I'm working on it. He doesn't even kiss that well. And yet I love to kiss him, and to be held by him. Mysterious, sexual attraction. Who can explain it? Not I.

Am at least not drinking quite as much as in the past. It's too hard to get up for yoga when I'm hungover. Sitting here on my back porch, writing, listening to jazz sad standards.

Going back to the couch now to watch another movie.