I’m starting to feel permanently parked in my friend C’s driveway. Let’s see, it’s been five nights here already, and I think I’m going to be here another two. That makes it pretty close to my longest stay anywhere. Fortunately, C is tolerant: I think I would feel seriously awkward about imposing on anyone else this long, but C is delightfully nonchalant about the whole thing. And the actual physical layouts of the driveway and house make it easy to believe I’m not getting in anyone’s way, even though I probably am.

I’m still waiting on the part for my sink. The service guy originally said by the end of last week, then said delivery on Tuesday. On Monday, he said that the part they needed was back-ordered and he had no idea when it would come in. I’m sitting here hoping that the answer is any minute now — today, tomorrow, Friday morning? — but one way or another, I’m leaving on Friday. If the sink isn’t fixed, it’s going to have to get fixed on my next swing back through central Florida.

The delays have seriously tested my zen. Zen in the urban dictionary meaning of the word, not the real definition. I want to be all peaceful and centered about the delay, living my life in a present that is actually quite comfortable, but instead it feels like an itch I can’t scratch. It makes me want to growl a lot and mutter bad words under my breath.

On the positive side, I’ve gotten to go to two yoga classes with C, and they’ve been great. I really do want to find a way to get real yoga back into my life. One of the classes was at 7AM and it was the first time I’ve felt clumsy while doing yoga for a while — the people who make it to the early morning class at the yoga studio are definitely the serious, graceful, very fit type. But instead of discouraging me, it made me wish for more practice. One of the best things about yoga is how easy it is to see improvement: at the beginning of a class, there are stretches that feel impossible, like sitting cross-legged and bending your head to the floor, and by the end of the same class, it’s so much easier to do the same thing. That said, I expect to be seriously sore tomorrow and suspect that I’ll be limping on Friday.

I’m also having lots of sociable time, and getting to see so many friends, some of them quite unexpectedly. It’s both really nice and a little much for introverted me. I suppose vast quantities of solitude punctuated by bursts of crazy sociability is simply part of the life of the nomad (except maybe for the really extroverted nomads meeting people wherever they go), but I wish I could even it out a little. On Friday, whether the sink is fixed or not, I’m headed off for two solitary weeks of sitting still. I’m sure by the end of it I’ll be feeling like I’ve been alone for too long, but at the moment it seems very appealing.

And of course I’m hoping to get lots of writing done while I do. I’ve been trying hard this week, but it’s been going nowhere fast. I’m in a part that feels boring to me and I don’t know whether it’s boring because I’ve been living with this plot line for more than two full years or whether it really is boring. I guess I’ll find out eventually, but only if I keep writing. Onward!

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