I took a walk to clear my head

Something to chew on. Something to think about. I feel no need to hurry. No need to jump. You let me know what you can do and then I'll decide. 

A valve cover gasket replacement claimed most of my day off yesterday. Now, the car will better hold its oil (I had to add three quarts last week). I walked eleven miles, with no elevation gain or loss, down a humid path along the floor of the Pioneer Valley while they were working. The sun burned my face and my heel blistered due to a disintegrating low-quality cotton sock. The staff at the shop still shake their collective head at the accumulated miles on that car. Half a million is the goal, I tell them. Half a mil. 

And my oldest boy, at the same time, was sleeping heavily in Boston while surgeons corrected something inside his heart which required the freezing of tissue and remote viewing. He came through it well. A little loopy, a little sore, but alive and well. He'll be back to his athletics soon. Something inside of me uncoiled.

Meanwhile, I'm living somewhere else simultaneously. A parallel life. A hot arid landscape with a river running through town. Starry nights and occasional cool shadows. A house of quiet laughter and frequent kissing. A place where it feels good to be me. If I'm not living there right now at the same time as I'm living here, well, that means I'm missing it. And that's just too sad to think about.