Not Doing

I've been into this thing where I work really hard during the week and then kinda dissolve into the weekend. Hedonism. It's awesome. I don't do anything I don't want to do. And it's okay that my house is a mess, that i haven't pulled a weed since August last year. The lawn is not my enemy ... let it grow.

This kind of thing leaves space for all these real moments of quality, I'm finding. Like:

•Not showering once on Saturday. Instead, perching on a front porch with a bunch of people that you like very much watching the light fall. What is it about front porches? They're better than back porches.

•Not going to the grocery store. Instead, skating a mini ramp under a weeping cherry tree that's crazy in bloom like some scene straight off a  Japanese kimono.

•Not taking the dog to the park first thing. Instead, wandering down Alberta Street in search of coffee, and then sitting on the sidewalk with your back against a warm brick wall to drink it. Talking. Waving at friends in their cars who don't see you but that's okay—you just let ’em drive on by.

•Not going home on Sunday night even though you're spent. Instead, staying out late to watch Trash Island play. Feeling them play, really—the show being so fucking loud that it rattles through your rib cage.