Last week, it’s believed to have been last week–time and days, with the exception of a few occasions, have been blending in lately–I was sitting on my parents’ veranda, the nomenclature preferred by both, writing.  The early evening was beautiful, tranquil, and there was a slight breeze.  Neighbors, familiar faces, were walking by and said hello from a distance.  This initially caught me off guard, it’s not that I did not expect to see people from the old neighborhood around and about, but my momentarily excitement came from seeing friends I haven’t seen in a while.  They asked me if I was working, and the initial response was going to be, no.  However, work was being done; writing, although it is not even close to being a paid job, is work.  This notion was gratifying, and a smile broadened across my face.  The response uttered, yes, sounded much more pleasing.  The statement continued, expanding on the thought that work is constantly being done.

Whether it’s reading, thinking, or writing that is being done, it’s work.  Work isn’t a bad term, because work–when accomplished–ultimately makes us feel good.  For those reading this, specifically the readers quick to judge on calling this blog actual work, it would be baffling to consider their perception about anything.  It’s not like I am sitting on the couch, watching television and eating Funions all day, debating on what to do for the rest of my life.  I’m writing lengthy posts, which pertain to writing about life.  Writing is writing.  It’s time consuming, so it must be work.  I’m trying to develop into a proficient writer.  While following other bloggers, there is a distinct style in variation; some post once a week or every couple days, some post every day, and some bloggers post multiple times every day.  Some of the multiple posters write shit, but it’s something rather than nothing.  I would rather read watered-down, quick and opinionated material than nothing.

So, if you find me in Dreamland, which is also a name of a failed Walt Disney World burrough–don’t quote me on that–I will be working nonetheless.

When I am not working, I’m usually running or milling about at some sort of local event.

It was a vow a few years back to not overdo myself when it came to work.  After college, my full-time job was in the finance department.  On the side, five days each week, you could find me sorting cans at a bottle redemption center over on Teall Avenue.  On the weekends, volunteering or working, I could be found at the Museum of Science & Technology, entertaining the masses about science (pronounced as: SCIENCE!!!).  Needless to say, I was working continuously as well; most of the money earned and saved went into financing my trips abroad.  How can you regret working when it yields happiness?

However, it did interfere with my social life, and my relationship mentality.

For those who cannot read and comprehend, please see the table below.  It took a while to make, so you better enjoy it.  Yes, technically, I worked on it.

A side note:  After 2007, the museum owned me on Saturday and Sunday; hence, the two bars.

Those working for the weekend make themselves blatantly clear; most of those people still post on Facebook and other social media outlets.  It’s evident who jokes about with semi-serious intention, and it’s obvious who is dead serious with no joking whatsoever.  Another day is another day.  My sleeping in is 8 A.M. on Saturdays and Sundays, and what I look forward to is sitting in coffee shops to do more writing/work.  It’s hard to turn myself off, including moments when I am hanging out with friends; my mind is distracting.

Steve Borek, a fellow CNY Blogger, posted shared an interesting article about deep breathing on LinkedIn.  Steve, who writes a motivational and business-based blog, Endgame Business, which had been updated as well, definitely is one of my favorite people to follow for blog purposes and the articles he shares on LinkedIn.

The article couldn’t have been shared at a more perfect time; hence, my writing this post.

A few years back meditation was offered at work, and I would attend the sessions every Wednesday.  It was the highlight of my week several times over.  Elizabeth Williams, Master of Reiki, whose website can be found here, guided us through the sessions.  This was something that I always wanted to try, so I didn’t hesitate to do so.  Was I skeptical?  At first, yes, but my mentality and positivity changed as the weeks progressed.  However, when something is tried for the first time, it is hard not to self-doubt.

After my time at my previous place of employment, attending the sessions–the thought, at least–would have been uncomfortable.  The facility made cutbacks, I was one of them, and my coming back would have not been kosher.  Since, I have returned a few times for work and personal purposes, and seeing familiar faces has been nothing short of positive.  There wasn’t anyone who I wouldn’t talk to, which helped sustain a positive work environment for me.  After two years at my current place of employment, I am doing the same.  If you see people on a regular basis, if you don’t introduce yourself, you may as well–at least–say hello.

On my walkabouts around Syracuse, and a handful of times when I used to go to Starbucks, openly admitting so, we would run into each other.  It was always pleasant, and often bragging rights were deemed legitimate.  I wanted to brag about meditating.  She’d always ask me if I was meditating, but my responses changed with each encounter.  An adamant yes turned into not as often as I’d like to, which eventually turned into sometimes, and the arrival of the dismal no came to fruition.  That one-word response was unsettling, and it still is.

Anyways, meditation is coming back into my life.  I started it back up last week while I was at my parent’s house.  They were out and about, and this would be the perfect (quiet) setting to kick this practice back into gear.  It was great, and getting back into the groove was easier than I thought it would be.  The lavenders, deeper purples, and greens flourished as they once had.  The pictures and scenes which played out were obscure, but I could pick up what was happening.  No, I am not going to tell you what was going on; maybe I will some other time.  However, I was disrupted by my parents’ arrival back to the homestead.  I heard–what I thought–was my mother’s voice talking to Lou, who was probably in his chair in the garage.  Embarrassed of my meditating again, for some unknown reason, I flicked on the lights as quickly as I could before they walked in.

Nothing.

I waited a half minute more.

Nothing.

I opened the garage door to nobody.  Lou wasn’t even in the garage.

Looks like my meditation took me deeper than I had originally planned.  This is all a good sign–meditation wise.  What this all means, I am not sure.  Last time I heard noises/voices at my parents’ house was a couple years ago when they went to Ireland.  While in the basement, I heard footsteps above me.  Knowing that I was the only person there, Lou was out at the time, this notion freaked me out a tad bit.

However, a little bit of deep breathing has done no harm.

It’s good to be back in the groove.