Zen and the art of being a shop keeper

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This is all new to me. I think I am doing quite well, but lunch is totally thwarting me. I cannot find anything I want to eat from the myriad of cafes and restaurants in the locale of Northcross Road. I am a princess, I know, and am used to eating a big lunch, and having little that is vegetarian on offer other than sandwiches or hummous, both of which I do not like, is proving tiring and tiresom.

It means I either starve. Something I have never been gifted at. I am unable to get high off being hungry. Oh my God, I truly wish I could. If it were so I would not be the pneumatic me that I am.
The only other option is to get up really really early and make myself something. I can see now, where my daughter gets her fussy eating from. I can see where my fantasies about personal chefs come from as well. I will ponder this problem whilst asleep and if I wake up early enough tomorrow, can start the joy of cooking really early in the morning.

Otherwise it is fine, being a shop keeper. I am responsible, I open, I smile, I tidy and I think. I am getting a calm, zen-like thing happening, rather like waiting in the wings on a film set, or travelling long distances. Just letting time move past without being too attached to it’s destination. I started a book today. Called Waterlog. A story of a man swimming across England. Slow and painstaking. It suits being in the shop really well. That is what it feels like. The repetitions, the ceremony and the ritual. All new and shiny now, but they all need to be kept polished.

I was talking with Miranda, from Dulwich life today, about having been a body painter before and how different this was, but in looking up and round me, I thought it was not really so different after all. Much was the same; decoration, adornment, colour, texture, themes, a beginning, an end. It is just more permanent, one has more time to construct. It lasts longer and is all around rather than focussed on one body. Interesting.