green grass of home
August 29, 2002 12:01 PM

Things you say about yourself can presage things you come to know.

For instance. Two years ago, I started this journal. I called it edge of the season because it was almost winter and, as is always with almosts, I was waiting. Impatiently.

Yesterday I assessed my full life and busy travel schedule for the remainder of the year.

I said: "You know, we really don't spend enough time at home watching television anymore." In almost all seriousness.

He said: "Wow, you really are a grass-is-greener person."

It's true. I can't do anything without waiting for the next thing. I can't do Buddha. I can't be here, now. I want to be there, then. Sometimes it's past and others future, but it's almost never present.

This isn't a great source of dissatisfaction in my brilliant life. No. My life is thrillingly good. Still I can't shake this terminal impatience.

And I guess I've said it before.

But. It just explains so much.

I am a greener grass person