Many of the things I enjoy most are bad for me, and while that's a damn shame, I'm not going to stop. Take, for instance, the cup of coffee I just poured. Here is sits next to my computer, warm and steamy and smelling just amazingly like fresh brewed coffee.
Every single morning, it's what I want, and what makes me feel so good. Coffee feels good going in and feels good in. I'm a little more chipper, actually kind of awake, even. I beeline for the coffee grinder and brewer every morning, even though every other month, the coffee headlines proclaim it is either going to kill or heal me, based on prevailing medical wisdom of the second. I've written about trying to stop drinking coffee before as well as accidental drinking decaf for a few days with disastrous results, and neither were happy situations. So here I will sit, every morning, drinking my delicious brew.
During the day, there is that moment--I can be at home or leaving my gym for work or walking along the outdoor corridors at the college--and it hits me. The sun. What is it about that warm yellow grip of heat that makes me want to take off most of my clothes and let it fall all over me (I don't, fear not. I don't want to scare the universe)? I want to close my eyes and just let the sunbath do its work, the heat warming me to my core. Yes, I know about melanoma, and I do have my 15 on all the time, day after day. Yes, I worry about my wrinkly skin, the sun's ability to age me beyond compare. My sister is a dermato-pathologist, and whenever I see her, she grabs my arms, runs her fingers over my shoulders looking for something very evil to tell me to have cut off. But that feeling. That glow! That power. Warm sun is better than warm water. Better than a freshly made bed. Warm sun is the palm I want to curl up and sleep in forever.
In the afternoon, I come home, put away all my bags and computer. I open the mail, take off my shoes, and pour a glass of red wine. Not white, but a Cabernet. A Pinot. A Zinfandel. I can even take this glass out to the deck, the sun still out at this time of year and feel the heat of the coming sunset and the tingle of red on my tongue. Whatever day it has been, it has been long, full of lots of talking or thinking or both. Oh, how that nice smoothness seeps in and lets me feel myself sitting. I'm here, now, even if I shouldn't have this glass of wine and its twin, glass number two. There are risks of this and that that outweigh the antioxidant properties. But how to compare with this spicy red sip? This calm? This ritual?
I'm not Julie Andrews ,and the song I would sing with these three things and perhaps a few others not so proper would be a hit on Youtube but not with the general pop. But the point is, life is dangerous. At any moment, poof! it's gone. I'm not a big advocate of losing it completely and hunkering down in the Movaje with a case of Merlot, but there are limits of how perfect we can live. Sure, we can stay inside with our air filter and organically grown clothing and locally grown, organic carrots, but for me, there are things on the edge that make living just worth living. I know these are bad for me, and I know they are some of my favorite things.
Causes Jessica Inclan Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org