Florida, Oddly Enough

The clock ticks, the fan rattles, and I feel my sandal pressing a bit too snugly. I'm back from walking the dog this foggy morning, and that shoe pinched the whole way. Exhaling coffee and cream, enjoying the flavors in my mouth, I drink the last of my cup. Clearing a space on the little couch which I'm using for sorting clothes, I sit and take off my shoes. Listening to the wind, the birds, and the highway sounds this morning, I relish the moments before my day starts running away.  I didn't accomplish as much as I wanted to, yesterday. This is habitual, it appears. I feel guilty sometimes that I've been allowed to have this period in life with time to reflect. I've always had to fight for it. But more likely I stole it away from duties, as I continue to do, today. When young, I rebelled against school and felt vague anxiety, daily. Something was wrong. As a teacher, now, I wonder what is the result of children the world over having vague anxiety daily? When I was old enough I'd cut school, because I'd rather sit around and think, or not think, or read. Occasionally, do. I thought college would be so much better because I'd get to choose what I wanted to learn. But I did an odd thing. I read other books, instead of the ones I was supposed to read.  I discovered authors in the library who swept me away into other lives more secure, or more exciting, or more interesting than my own. That was my pattern except for a few courses. English and philosophy were usually exactly what I wanted to read. Some teachers were able to make a feast of their courses; I'd work hard for them. I relished the A- from Dr. Grace Tripp, the B- in physical geography.  Otherwise, I did ok. Though I did fail swimming, which I carelessly forgot to drop in time--don't take swimming in the winter in Ohio, especially with your long hair. Not until I went back to college in my 50'd did I do well. When I cared and was not so anxious.
I guard time and energy, fearing I will run out. That I do not have enough. I'm selfish in this way and I apologize.

When we were young and got sick, we'd lie in our beds and listen to our mothers vacuuming, dusting, maybe hearing the radio, or television. They'd come and check on us. Take our temperature with the back of their hands. Bring us cold drinks. Snippets of telephone conversations, calling the dogs inside. Time moved so slowly. I used to almost enjoy the tiredness of having a cold which gave me permission to rest in a chair with a book. Feeling too tired to do anything with friends. Where did the idea that I had to do be doing things make me rebellious to action? That made me have this strange little issue with myself that I laugh about, today?
Ah, well. My coffee is finished and there are papers to grade...