Really appreciated Chi King this morning. Focused less on the timings and more on being; felt much more beneficial. The legacy of coronation chicken was carried into today’s sandwiches, and shall certainly endure for several more days, leading to a double intake of raisins. Also resentfully assumed the responsibility of bailiff for my personal finances. I hope one day I will have a clear idea of my cash flow.
Work was refreshingly quite today. The kitchen playlist dabbled in Thelonious Monk, before submitting to the inevitable Michael Jackson. My bladder mastered the hidden art of needing to be emptied just before a rush of orders came in. Completely unintentional, but great for a little selfish respite from not very much stress.
I had low-level, irrational anxiety about my hair’s cleanliness, so had to wash it, breaking my weekly cycle. Sorry Mother Earth for needlessly releasing chemicals into your belly. Then the evening took an episodic turn, with a music rehearsal that was uncannily similar to the last one.
After my weekly, Monday lie-in, I occupied myself with a mixture of exercising, watching Cowboy Bebop, and eating food at such times that didn’t fall under the labels of breakfast, brunch or lunch. Such dissolution of structure. Then headed off to teach piano. One lesson contained improvised songs, which were simultaneously dissonant, hilarious and profound.
In between all this was the traditional Costa trip, now appearing on a Monday time slot instead of Wednesday. The dishwasher was broken, so automatically decided to purchase a reusable mug instead of using a disposable one, in an irresistible reflex against environmental destruction. Didn’t reach any new, spiritual highs, but dealt with a lot of life admin.
Dramatic windy times on Bole Hills with mixed feelings: should I have exercised my right to the last possible shorts day in 2017? I’ll have to wait fifty years to find out if I’ve caused damage to my kneecaps. The pizza fast was broken at the evening work social, and then cocktails for the first time in my life; I love alcohol.
The morning routine has reached unprecedented heights; I managed to do Chi Kung, Pilates, and purchase milk for breakfast, all before 9:15. The back tension doesn’t know what to do. I can barely hold on under such an onslaught. Victories were slightly dampened by a cancelled driving lesson. Put my spare time to good use watching abortion and Friends. So much drama, so much laughter.
After writing a talk at church with Hyland, and an exceptional Tuscan bean soup, it was time for meaningful reflections on Ecclesall Road. I always visit this area when I need a good few hours of thought, as it reminds me of my time at uni, a period of constant flux. Listened to Halcyon Days by Ellie Goulding, the original glory soundtrack. Some crazy brain connections were made, which may need to forethought the political correctness sieve before sharing. Then curry wars at the Williams’. I’m sorry, but jar flavouring can never supersede the organic.
It was time for Pilates to be resurrected into my normal routine. Since starting Chi Kung, I’ve fallen into exercise snobbery, believing it to be the final word on all things core strength. But I think this dynamic duo is the way to release random, morning back ache. Cue a mission into the loft to reattain my Pilates ring, an operation involving many risky manoeuvres. After risking lifelong spine damage for short term benefits, I later realised I didn’t even need to use it. But I live for that buzz.
Usual Monday floating ensued, drifting between piano lessons and extended coffee stops. Wondering if it’s possible to build a spirituality based entirely on encounter, without the need to behave, manage time, or “live well”. Jesus is definitely there, in the deep and shallow, with or without people, in eternal, defining moments, and everyday working and waiting. “For from him and through him and for him are all things.”