Stuck on the Couch

I have confessed before that I am something of a couch potato, which is why I generally avoid sitting in comfortable chairs. To do my homework, I sit at the kitchen table but, while I like the aesthetics of the chairs, they are not comfortable for sitting in for long amounts of time. My favorite couch, however, is a beacon of comfort and goodness. It calls to me, most particularly when I’d really rather not be productive.

When I sit on this couch, it’s as if my behind reaches critical mass (or absolute zero) and all the cells in my person slow down. It’s not that I can’t get up, it’s that I don’t want to. This couch has almost everything I need in life: a blanket, a pillow, a cat to sit beside me, my books and tablet on the end table. There’s even a coffee pot in the room. The family calls it my momma cave. I keep the door open so any being, either human or feline, can come keep me company, but I get their point.

I’ve been relaxing there tonight, laptop whirring, cell phone on the end table, a book I am almost finished reading beside that. Tech meets the classics in a mismatched yet harmonious sort of way. Some people might eat comfort food or drink a glass of wine at the end of a day. Me, I have planted myself on the couch. Both husband and son have come to check on me, I presume to see if I’m awake. I am, but not by much. It’s in that in-between state of Doing the Things and Thinking About the Things that I am most mindful of the moment. I could claim to be meditating, but I’m really not. I’m just stuck on this couch waiting until the motivation to Act strikes. It might be a while.

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