04.25.2013 - 04.25.2013
We are lazy. Unaccountably so. We go to bed late. We read on the beach (until I am so pleased I have to stop and gloat, privately). We do not write, nor take pictures. We eat gluttonously--or it feels gluttonous. Occasionally we puzzle out life's more serious matters, but it's all abstract, felicitously distant.
We understand that there will be a return to the real world. And yet we toy with the idea of one more month, one more year. Or a break in the real world, to collect more, and then back to this, or something better, after which who knows? It is a blessing not to know what is "after."