It has shifted from that tingly, bouncy, juicy gushy feeling to the next phase.
I'm smug as a cat, snoozing in a sunbeam. I feel totally lazy and satisfied and floaty and peaceful.
I don't want to blog. I don't want to work. I don't want to think.
I just want to soak in this peaceful joy and satisfaction.
I did change my bed & shower yesterday. It's very comfortable and fluffy.
I washed those sheets & blankets and have them hanging on the line: about 5 laundry loads.
Everything's clean, picked up, organized, watered....
There's nothing left to do.
Not chore wise, anyway.
I think having Food Not Bombs here is good for me: I have to keep things organized.
There's much I can do, re: indy production, blogging, working for Laura, etc.
But I'm pretty sure I'll get it all done.
But probably not today.
I'm healing.
I'm just indulging this languid happiness. I too seldom feel this way. I think it's good for me to be in this state, and I don't want to interrupt the psychological processes unfolding in me with a bunch of external clatter.
No TV, no radio.
Just me and Porkchop, stretched out on my sunlit, fluffy bed, absorbing the hum of the planet beneath us.
My garden is quite beautiful.
My home is comfortable.
I am a good person.
I'm happy.
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