It's 6:30PM on Sunday evening. I'm lounging on my bed (with laptop, of course), a cat at my side. She purrs when I pet her, saying 'I love you' in cat, to my love for her.
Outside the open window, a breeze plays with the evergreen branches, and the slanting light sparkles. The whoosh of the breeze competes with the creak of the evergreens and bird calls for my attention.
I've been reading a good book ("Who We'll Be", by John Zogby), sipping a glass of 2-buck chuck. There is nowhere I have to be, nothing I have to do. I can just be.
So aside from wishing my body weighed a little less, life is damn near perfect. I am truly lucky to have a body on planet Earth. And if I ever complain, remind me about this evening, okay?
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