It's so hard for me to escape the gravitational field of the house. Today I am going to visit Aunt Lucille in Park Rapids. Though I know it will be good, I always have trouble breaking from my home and the familiar to go someplace new.
If I weren't traveling this weekend I would be working today. But in this moment when I haven't yet committed to the countdown sequence of launching myself, there is a free space. Knowing I will travel has kept me from making the usual lengthy list of things I should do, so I don't have any other plans for today. Into this small mental free space flood a dozen longings to read, do art, write, work on projects, walk . . . not weed, or do housework, or any of the things I would really do if I were to stay home. It's a small free space, a rarity for any of us. A duty-free zone.
In truth I also drag my heels because for each trip there is at least one unpleasant task that must be done before one leaves. Usually it is bill paying or doing the dishes. Today my paycheck has been deposited, the library books have been returned, and I even have something in the house to eat on Sunday night. There is plenty of book and paper clutter that could be cleaned up, and vacuuming to be done, but the real show stoppers are emptying the kitty litter box, which has been left a little longer than usual this week, and cleaning my suitcase, into which Potamus has peed. I left it out after my last weekend away, just two weeks ago, and perhaps he sees it as a sign he's going to be home alone, which, as a very social cat, he doesn't like. Whatever the reason, I absolutely am not interested in attacking two depositories of cat pee before I go--but I must. So here I am, procrastinating.
And if it weren't that it would be something else.