I am back from the wilderness (well, a whole FORTNIGHT in Spain with my grandmother). I am very suntanned, so zen I am practically levitating. I did very, very little. I feel I have slowed down to octogenarian pace, which is a rarity for me. Readjusting to real world life - alarm clocks and trains and general bullshit, quite frankly - is HARD.
I did writing, mostly on a sunny balcony, sometimes in a cafe. I tried to go running every day and to chant every day. I drank gin. I read precisely zero books. I sat still an awful lot. I swam in the sea. I had Thai massages on the beach. I ate chips. I slept. I walked. I wore a hat. I listened to a lot of Radiohead and Prince and Steely Dan and Cat Power and Devendra (my nan's new favourite OF COURSE).
While I was away, I had a birthday. How (HOW?) am I 36 years old now? Nothing is what I thought it would be. Mostly that's OK. I got some great birthday presents. The best ones were: a rose quartz necklace and the Brian Eno Oblique Strategies cards that I have been fascinated with for the longest time (I seriously cannot imagine a duo of presents that 'get' me more than this, from someone I haven't known for very long); and a black/red reversible Chinese silk jacket, that my dad bought my mum in Hong Kong in the 1970s and I have coveted literally my whole life (THANK YOU, MUM).
I am seeing a lot of cats and a lot of 11.11. (WHAT DOES IT ALL MEEEEAN? The cats speak Spanish so it's hard to tell, obvs.) This generally means evolution is afoot. Or that I am overtired.
Today I am mostly trying my best to hang on to the zen. Wish me luck.