Thinking About Water

Keen, eagle-eyed, genius readers of this blog will notice the reduced level of posting around here lately. The thing is, while I do love queuing up a daily post, it is a pretty intense commitment. Sometimes it's so refreshing and nice to take a break, and then come back chilled out and limber and stretchy. It's like getting up from your desk and wandering through fields of daisies for a while. It just feels good and lets your mind soften and relax.

Artist's impression of what it might be like to frolic.

This is why my approach to tasks I try to do every day allows for some laxity, almost as a rule. I keep a diary, which I fill in every day, but sometimes I forget. So I just try to fill it in the next day and not worry about it. Often I'll write "I forgot to write here yesterday", and just use the space as a sort-of expanded entry for that next day, or indeed just tell the version of the previous day that's already slightly marked by that little passage of time. No problem. The flexibility is baked in.

And so it is here, where sometimes I open a blank page and find I have nothing to say, because I have a headache and feel irritated. Because all my thoughts are slimy.

It's just not that serious, and so I can close the tab and drink cold water from the fridge instead. Nothing was lost, but some pleasure was certainly gained.

Speaking of water, it's almost hard to imagine a greater, more immediate pleasure than a drink of chilled water directly from the fridge. I guess I'm typing this while thirsty, but I'm just imaging that incredible, delicious feeling and the anticipation alone is literally so good. When I was a kid I didn't really drink a lot of anything else. I thought water tasted so good. And I'm not talking about the kind of soft water that people in soft water areas love to brag about. I'm speaking of hard London tap water, that yummy taste of sediment that causes all kettles to develop a thick and repulsive scum that demands a vinegar soak to be freed from. To me, that stuff tastes so good. If I have a layer of barnacle on the inside of my body because of it (this is totally how hard water works), it's worth it. That dusty tap juice is delicious.

All this to say, I suppose - pleasure is the ultimate goal of life. Long-lasting, luxurious, indulgent, sweet pleasure. And sometimes, pleasure is in the lack of doing, just as much as in the doing. So I will be writing and smiling and guzzling my water as suits me, but I will also be, as is necessary, wandering away and closing my eyes in peace. 

If you are looking for me, I will be filling a bottle with water at the sink, most likely.