I’m writing this in bed as I’ve had a recurrence of the gut issues that plagued me back in January. Maybe all that seafood didn’t agree with me?
Simon has spent the morning at a museum, I’ve taken some medication in hopes of being well enough for a walking tour this afternoon.
I’ve been thinking about the comment I made yesterday about friends with expensive tastes. It may have come across as a criticism but that’s just my clumsy phrasing. It’s the same with the way Simon has booked this part of our holiday. We rented a (huge) car at the airport, then drove it into town – incredibly stressful – to leave it in an expensive car park for three days. We are staying in an apartment up four flights of steps with no elevator that is 25 minutes walk from the Duomo in the centre of town. That is not the way I would have done it. I’d have taken the train, then walked to my accommodation which would be more central. That would be different but even I can see it wouldn’t necessarily be better. By leaving the organising to him, I had the time to plan out the parts of my sabbatical before and after the time he is over here. Similarly, doing luxurious things organised by other people really broadens my experience in a way that following my own inclinations all the time wouldn’t. And if it means I won’t be able to retire anytime soon, that’s probably a good thing.
Not sure if any of the above makes sense. I’ve been listening to a podcast on mindfulness and how the illusion of self fits in with our understanding of the structure of the brain. So I may be a little confused.
As an aside, it appears I was wrong about the languages in Sardinia. My polymath brain surgeon colleague tells me they speak Gallurese, which is a dialect of Corsican, and also Catalan, in the Northern regions where we spent our time. As usual I was spouting off about stuff I hardly knew anything about. Sigh.