I've just spent Thanksgiving weekend with Mom which made it abundantly clear to me that I have an alarming dearth of joie de vivre. And not just compared to Mom, who is stinking lousy with zest. You could put me next to cadavers and I bet I still have less joie de vivre than they do.
I mean, I love life. But I'm just not that into it. I love it, but I'm not ready to put a ring on it, you know what I mean?
I'm not unhappy. I am quite content with how I lurch and slog through my days, waiting out the hours after morning coffee until evening wine, and then, again, to morning coffee. I go to work. I write, I read. I walk Phila. I spend a lot of time thinking about my next meal. I cook, I clean. I try to do a few good deeds as long as they are in the neighborhood. I guess I have the joie but not so much the vivre. But every time I spend time with Mom I see how dialed down I am. Dialed down to, like, a "2" when everyone else is living life at, I don't know, "8".
Living life at an "8" sounds like a lot of work. It sounds like you have to buy season tickets to shit and be interested in shit and travel and pick-your-own apples in the Fall. Living life at "8" requires curiosity and abundant energy and a willingness to park downtown. You have to actually do things. Probably every day.
I honestly don't see the point in doing things when you can get everything you need from talking about doing things. Or listening to other people talk about doing things. For instance, why do we all need to see The Life of Pi? One of us can go see it and tell the rest of us about it. And then the rest of us can post it on Facebook and no one has to put on a bra and go out in public. Same with Zumba. Let's just send one of us over to do it, like a scout ant, only none of us follow.
Same with going to Europe. Same with going outside.
I am not just an armchair traveler; I am an armchair everything. In fact, stick a couple of springs on my ass and I am pretty much an armchair. Although, if I were a piece of furniture, I believe I'd be more of a fainting couch than an armchair.
Or maybe a bean bag chair. HAH. Yeah, totally. A bean bag chair. With glasses and clogs. That will be my avatar.
Did I use that word correctly? I have no idea. I don't know what an avatar is. Because, you know, I didn't go out and see the movie.
When Mom is in town, however, I try to make more of an effort to live vivre. After four nights of playing BANANAGRAMS and picking at the leftover pies, I sensed Mom was itchy to get out. She had taken to standing at my front door in her coat and scarf with her leash in her mouth.
So off we went to the movies, Mom and Karen and I. We saw THE LIFE OF PI.
Then we went home and ate leftover pie.
Then Mom flew home to LA in time to hit a luncheon, a meeting, a movie and dinner with friends before the day was over.
I am napping for the rest of the month. I will tell you all about it afterwards.