I Know Comfort, detail

My husband is a funny guy. Well, if you like wordplay, crazy stories, and goofy song lyric mash-ups. This would likely fall into the "humor" category versus "wit" per the film Ridicule, if you've ever seen it. And I do like wit, I really, really do. You will impress me enormously with a well-timed, well-phrased riposte but at heart, I'm just an eleven-year old girl who will convulse with giggles watching old Carol Burnett, Monty Python, SNL, or any kind of silly skits. Get me giggling and you can pretty much have your way with me.

As he knows.

My husband also knows me truly, madly, deeply. And isn't that the best feeling? To be known? All your conflicting elements that coalesce into the strange amalgam that is you and there is someone who gets it? Someone who knows how all the pieces fit together?

Right now, he is taking on the role of my "relaxation coach." He calls me throughout the day to ensure that I am doing exactly nothing. When I respond with anything that smacks of list-making, fretting, planning or being in anyway productive, he puts a firm hand on the gerbil wheel of my mind and forces me to stop.

I Know Comfort, mixed media on canvas, 18" x 24"

A couple weeks back, we were sitting in the kitchen eating dinner and I was a bit stressed and a bit tired, but talking animatedly about how great it was going to be this summer because I was going to have four! whole! months! without work and oh my god how relaxed and loose and wild and carefree I was going to be.

me: Can you imagine? I'm going to go to the beach and laze about and be an absolute sloth! Doesn't that sound fantastic?

him: I give you exactly five minutes before you have every hour of every day booked and over scheduled.

At the time, if I didn't think that was such a joke, I might've gotten all huffy with him. But now, now that my clock has begun as of Friday-- I am now IN my four months off-- and I see just what a battle it is for me to not be constantly engaged with meaningful activity* I think, holy shit, and I'm pretty laid back compared to some other people in my family.

All of which to say, I'd love some input from you on a good word. You know how last January lots of bloggers were choosing their word for the year? I want to do that for this summer. I want a word that means just stop fucking pushing. A word that I can focus on and use as a mantra while I work to disengage the wiring that has me unable to just sit without beating myself up about all the 18 million things I should, must, could, oughta be doing.

My goal is to give over to an easier, more trusting, more open, more loose approach to the hour, to the day, to the week, to my life.

Got a word for me? I'd love to hear your ideas--

Oh, and this painting I am sharing with you is called "I Know Comfort." I truly suck at photographing my work-- the colors are all off as is the proportion of the shot (it's sitting on an easel)-- but hey, whatever. The writing on the lower right hand side is a photocopy (blown up) of a note T left for me years ago. It was scribbled on the back of a fax cover sheet, so all of that came through when I scanned it-- but I like the messy look of it. In this moment, I am inundated with a wave of things I want to say that either explain the piece or denigrate it and I am resisting the urge to say anything about it at all.

It is what it is.

I am where I am.

Now, I'm gonna go walk my one good dog, Oliver. (This morning's bad dogs = Henry and Daisy who ran off for 20 minutes which was most upsetting, the brats).

*whatever the hell that means

I Know Comfort, detail

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