I want a beer

There are at least eight beers in my fridge, and I'd been planning all day to drink a beer while updating my blog, but about 15 minutes ago, I forgot all about my buzz plan and brewed myself a cup of tea. The buzz sensation I've been counting on all day is still alluring, but I am occasionally able to stop fighting my better instincts. So my dear beer, my sweet, crisp, raspberry wheat delight, I will drink you tomorrow night after my next long day.

I mean, ahem, full day. A full, rich, and productive day. Oh, it was all that, but fuck it, I didn't enjoy much of my day.

What I really mean is that I had a very long day, touched by serenity for only an hour and half during a great yoga class. God bless the yoga teachers of the world, I could have kissed mine today, she was just what I needed. I actually teared up during savasana.

I've been doing tasky things all day -- skipped church to get it "all" done, something I've done only twice this year while actually in Santa Cruz. I spent the day planning some sessions for student life staff training that starts tomorrow (which leads to move-in, which then brings with it the first six weeks of school crazieness -- namely, a lot of policy violations for me to adjudicate, and my trip to China in mid-October). Also, I did a lot of uncooking (raw food creations and treats) to trade for my voice lesson tomorrow night. I met and gave keys to about half of the Neighborhood Assistants (like RAs) and Community Assistants (they plan programs all year long), which involved a cell phone that rang every few minutes for three hours and the discovery of missing keys and trips to the office. I made breakfast, lunch and dinner, ran three errands, did all my dishes, and picked up the house a little, too.

And at almost every step, I've willed a fog of resentment at bay. I really wanted this to be a calm weekend, my last before the year starts, and I wanted to drink a fucking beer at the end of the day, damnit.

Perhaps I should have gone to church today, or at least prayed. Or at least had that beer.

It doesn't escape me now that feeling resentful that things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to this weekend is privileged state, or more plainly, it's downright bratty. I have a job, one I love, and a wonderful apartment with everything I need to make the food I love. I have a caring boss, talented co-workers, a car and the money to buy groceries and books and pay for yoga classes. I have eyes that see well (ok, with the help of glasses) and I got to watch the Bay on my drive into town this afternoon, that expanse of sapphire all rippled by wind, little white-tipped waves stacked in patterns too regular to seem possible and I took in the way the sunlight seemed filtered by an orange film around seven this evening, the world looking soft and warm and peaceful. I have a body that moves well and is strong and fit. I am, in almost every way, enormously privileged, and I don't take any of my day for granted. And, even when I am not flooded with gratitude for the whole of my life, I know it is a rare and good thing I have going on here. God, please, may I ALWAYS know this.

What I really, truly mean, deep down, is that it's ok to be grateful and disappointed at the same time, these aren't mutually exclusive emotions, and there's no spiritual scorekeeper out there weighing one against the other and calling it a draw. 

I love my life, so, so much, AND I really would have rather spent my day at the beach drinking cold beers and reading a good book.