When people say, “Never a dull moment,”  it’s usually with a certain amount of chagrin–perhaps some eye-rolling, too.  Or maybe that’s just me. It is not as though my life is one exciting moment after a thrilling one and before a fascinating one, but there have been too many emails, phone calls, meetings, festivals, and projects, and not enough being bored and wondering what to do.  These days I’m more likely to wonder what twelve things I’m not doing that I should be doing. It’s more of an anxiety wonder than a full of wonder wonder.

I was about to say that I miss dull moments, but that’s not quite true. There are plenty of dull moments in my day, but dull moments don’t add up to much.  I miss dull days, dull weeks. I want one. The kind where I knit and sit and eat and knit and read and eat and go for a bike ride and don’t talk on the phone or stare at a computer or worry about anything except how to fix the knitting that I’ll likely screw up since I can hardly remember how to do it anymore.

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