Retreating

Night time is the worst time. I lie in bed hoping sleep comes quickly. There’s so much I have to sort out about my life. I want to make a move but I can't do that without money. That’s a fact. We can vibrate, visualize, ohmmm till the cows come home but still, mobility takes money.

So my mantra these days is:

If you can’t be at the place you love, love the place you’re at. (sucky grammar aside, you get the drift)

I’m going to use this snowbird-less time as my own personal body, mind and soul rehab program. I will imagine I’m at a spiritual retreat in Sedona or a meditation center in India. I’m at a writer’s colony like Yaddo or some place in Taos. As an added bonus it’s a fat farm – Hilton Head or the Dead Sea Detox program. By the time fall rolls around I will have sorted out my next move, my screenplay will have been written, and my white moveable thighs will be tan and taut.

All this would be easier to do if I’d cancel my facebook account and get rid of some other addictions. I’ll work on those too.  First I’ve got to do the Sudoku puzzle of the day.