Mew-sings

The cats are anxious to go outside into the garden on another sunny morning. Ed mews and whimpers and Simon flies from the floor to whatever surface is in front of me in hopes that in seeing him there I will understand that there is something he wants. He is less demanding, but more "in my face" as it were.

Meanwhile I have responded to the more silent call of the computer which seems always to need attention though it neither calls nor dances in front of me. H and I sat with some new friends over dinner recently, and the men and women divided into encampments. The men seem to have talked about sports (according to what H told me later), and the women talked about working from home. They talked about finding themselves in their janmmies at night, having gone to their computers to answer email in the morning and realizing at 3:30 that they were still not dressed. "It hardly seemed worth it at that point, so I just stayed in my jammies until night when I had to change because my daughter brought home her boyfriend."  It was entirely too familiar though I tend to dress early enough to pass muster if someone drops in. But the email monster has considerable hold on me, and the computer calls in the middle of the night. I woke this morning thinking of a word from Barry Lopez' book About This Life that I read in a rare lunch break yesterday with a book rather than a keyboard. (The word was "adumbrations" which seems to mean foreshadowing).

The Atlantic published an article last year asking on its title page whether "Google is making us Stoopid" and it lies beside my bed where I read it at one of those 2-in-the-morning wake-ups with my head full of things that needed doing but too cold to get out of bed. (H and I call that "churning" but it is probably better described as "cramps".) Anyway, the article resonates as does the considerable concern about the epidemic of obesity that results from people checking their email in the morning and remaining at the desk til night.

An old friend, Mary Sojourner has written a dark piece (available here) on the idea that the endless upping of the ante for women has resulted in  over-stressed over-committed women who long for "the great sleep".  While that may be slightly over-the-top, I don't disagree with the principle as I sit here typing, while one cat mews and the other walks across the keyboard.

She wrote:

"No matter the results of your self-exploration, please remember this: with any addiction, there is a dealer getting rich off the addict’s misery. Who has so many of us in their grip? Who is profiting off our frantic efforts to stay ahead of impossible expectations? What could it mean if we began to refuse to comply?"

I woke this morning thinking of the work I have to do. I woke this morning thinking of the lunch I have to prepare which will interrupt my day at the desk. Lunch rather than dinner. An interruption rather than a pleasure. I woke this morning thinking of the students that have not turned in the work they need to do and thinking that I need to write them an email reminding them that they are late. I woke this morning thinking that I ought to take a walk but there isn't the time. I woke this morning thinking about the proposal I need to write for a small consulting job where my gender is one of the things that makes me attractive. (She'll work for food!)  I woke this morning thinking about what I need to do. More accurately, I woke thinking about what I haven't done.

" What could it mean if we began to refuse to comply?"

Ed is pawing at the door.

I think I will take the cats for a walk.