Televised baseball games and weekend work have encroached upon something I've intended to do yesterday and today. I bought a cheap lawn chair--or whatever you want to call this thing, as in my mind a lawn chair has an aluminum frame and woven straps--so I could sit on one of my balconies and read. (Aside: do they even make those anymore?)
I got the idea after reading outdoors while out and about on Friday and Saturday. It was nice to be outside, especially at the times I was, and let everything else melt away. No artificial light, which is practically all I get for the better part of the week at work. No booming bass next door, which isn't as bad as it was last fall but can still be irksome. No distraction. Just being in the moment.
For whatever reason, sitting outside and reading strikes me as such a luxury. It's a way to go elsewhere, even if it's only moving ten feet from where I'm plopped in the living room right now. It's a way to be meditative. It's a place for losing distractions.
Of course, I've not followed through since purchasing the chair yesterday afternoon. My writing plans got interrupted, and then the ballgame went long. Some necessary viewing and intermittently successful attempts at writing gobbled hours, not to mention another lengthy baseball game.
Yet here at dusk that small balcony beckons. Tomorrow, I tell myself, after I've wrapped another show and got all the stuff for it cleared from my head. Just as long as tomorrow doesn't keep getting pushed.