Appetites

Last night I slept like a desert traveler would drink. Huge mouthfuls of dreams, oxygen, theta waves. Then, the morning shower and shampoo, a feast of appreciation for each surface of my body.

My next appetite was for the telephone. Lani went to the gym, and I called radio stations, future gigs, future housing, the Twiggs Company, Susie Heldfond, my mother. I made lists of needed office work, shopping, repairs, more people to call. I set up my laptop, my zip drive, my printer. Time to back everything up again. Answer the e-mail. Write today's web page. Prepare a mailing. Pay bills. The long list comforts me because it is finite, but scares me because it is daunting. I wade in nonetheless. I love my work. I want this machine to fly.

Toward late afternoon, my body whines for a walk. Lani's does, too. Rhythmic movement without a goal through that golden afternoon is another kind of feast. We talk ourselves, then, into doing yoga (me for the first time in weeks), and then prepare and eat a perfect girl meal (baked fish and a green salad). Cooking and washing dishes with Lani is about laughing, story-telling and sharing information. Long term friendship is rich feast, indeed.

I'm back at my desk--so happy there's a desk to which to return. I want to get everything done tonight, and I know I can't. That big appetite for sleep will blossom first.