Why am I unable to relax?

And I mean ever.  I try, believe me, dear readers, I truly do.  Like yesterday.  We were blessed with the most perfect weather, New York at its best.  Turquoise sky, speckled with nonthreatening fluffy puffy clouds, a gentle sun, and absolute absence of humidity.  Nothing really planned or urgent in the agenda, just the usual daily stuff, like fixing dinner, a load of laundry.  So I unearth a beach chair from the garage, dust it off and settle it in a quiet, shady corner of my backyard, brushing against a bush of pretty purple flowers, whose name I don’t know because I don’t have a green thumb, and which are blessedly perennials, of course, because, well, I don’t have a green thumb.  I stretch out contentedly on the lounge, kick off my flip flops and reach for the lovely, thick new book by one of my favorite authors.  Hours ahead for me, people!  Almost a full day to dedicate to reading, the only pastime really worthy of, well, my time. I remove the bookmark, quivering with anticipation, as I enter the pages that will fly me to India. The chicken! I forgot to defrost the chicken cutlets for tomorrow.  I quickly run up to the fridge, take out the icy little packet and place it on a plate.  Since I’m here, might as well put away the few items drying in the dish drainer.  Oh, I hear the mailman.  Wait a few seconds (he needs to leave, wouldn’t want him to think I’m waiting for delivery behind the front door!), grab the mail, go through it quickly but methodically, place each letter in the appropriate pile, sigh at the arrival of the American Express bill, but bravely look at it anyway.  Ouch.  (Shoes).  Ok, back to the book, need to take a break for sure.  Lying on the lounge again, I attempt to adjust my back to actually touch the plastic, order my muscles to slack off a bit, release my inborn tension.  A mansion in Kolkata, India, a pleasant day in April, unusually cool.  Still, Asif was drenched in sweat, since he had been waiting for Miss Sonia forever, and was seething with indignation.  How dare she have so little respect for his time?  He paced outside the gates of the mansion and started considering leaving while he still had his dignity.  Damn, the prescription! Completely slipped my mind.  But the drugstore closes at 6, right? Still have lots of time to enjoy my book.  I allow my back to readjust to the seat, didn’t realize that I had been sitting up as stiff as a frigging utility pole.  Even my teeth are clenched.  Relax my jaws, there, loosen all my muscles…My walk!  Didn’t get to do it today!  Actually it’s been three days…I need to get moving, gotta maintain this smoking little body J.  Okay, okay, still early.  I can read first, take my break, then, after lunch, I’ll power walk.  There, decided.  Breathe in, breathe out, pick up the book again.  Love it when I’m familiar with the author, I know what to expect in style, emotion, a comfortable ride, but still sizzling with the thrill of the unexpected. I turn the page, as Asif, livid, begins to retrace his steps, he hears a car horn: of course it’s her, beautiful, raven-haired Sonia, at the wheel of a Porsche, her eyes smiling mockingly. My Italian lesson! Accidenti, I almost forgot.  I’m fresh now, full of energy, a good time to put together the grammar packets for my class…and find that movie clip on YouTube.  I think it will be fun for them, plus an article to go along with the visual.  Yes, bursting with ideas.   There, I’m at the computer, typing, clicking, planning.  Done!  The book is face down on the grass (guess I ran to my ‘studio’), when I return, I eagerly pick it up again.  Back to India. Why does she have a Porsche, though? Asif must be dying to inquire; he seems uneasy and disturbed…My blog! Must absolutely write it.  Now.

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