Sunday Afternoon and Life Is the Opposite of Malaise

We aren’t an active family. I mean, we do stuff. Just not a lot of stuff. Sometimes it feels like a lot of stuff. But usually it feels that way because it’s a lot of stuff at the same time.

But today, oh, today. Today is…fine. It isn’t great, it isn’t bad, it’s just a very reasonable fine. We saw old friends this mornings, we cheered L at a basketball game early in the afternoon, and now we are home, and a chicken is roasting in the oven. The younger boys made popcorn. The older boy started a movie. The dogs are half-asleep on the couches thinking this is exactly the way life should be all the time and mostly I think they’re right.

Maybe not all the time. I like the highs, and while I can’t say I like the lows, I do see why they are necessary. They remind us of how much worse things could be.

And even the fact of Philip Seymour Hoffman and his stupid death–even that can’t quite puncture my general feeling of the opposite of malaise. What is the opposite of malaise? Webster’s offers antonyms like joy, well being, calmness, cheer, but none of those are, well, French enough. Joyeux? Still doesn’t cut it. You know what I mean. There must be a word out there that means “a French word directly opposite of malaise” and that’s exactly what I am right now.

I think I might go build a fire. And read a book. Tallis has a music thing every Saturday morning and it’s right near a bookstore, which is wonderful for the bookstore and not so wonderful for my bank account. I am trying to be good. But! Have you heard of A.S. King? She write really great YA books. I am reading all of them. You should too.

I wish for you all a Sunday like mine. Warm, cozy, just active enough. Perhaps with a roast chicken.

Published by andi

Writer, editor, wrangler of small boys and dogs.

One thought on “Sunday Afternoon and Life Is the Opposite of Malaise

  1. These are the days that get under your skin. Your conscious brain remembers the high days and the low days, but the whole undercurrent of your being remembers these slow, quiet, calm, accumulating days, and they are what make life so wonderful.

    And the loss of PSH is a damn shame and a waste.

    And, I haven’t read A.S. King, but now I feel I must.

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