Breakfast in comfortable clothing.

These clothes I wear are comfortable, because they have been repeatedly worn by me. There’s something promising about new clothes. Yes, they feel good. They are, after all, new. But there’s comfort in well-worn fabric toward which these new threads strive.

Worn clothes are even more comfortable when the wearing was a personal effort. I can put on a shirt with similar wear, but if it’s not mine it’s just not as comfortable. Both go through the same laundering so, once fluffed and folded, they should feel the same, right?

I’m reading ‘Breakfast at the Victory’ by James P. Carse. According to the sales receipt-turned-bookmark, I’ve owned it since 1994, but am just now starting to read it.

The author also penned ‘Finite and Infinite Games,’ which I must have read, based on it’s shelf location, years ago. I can’t tell you what it was about, what I learned from it, or even if I liked it or finished it. But whatever experience I took from it is undoubtedly still within me, stained in my existence.

These books wait for me. All I have to do is remember to pack them, move them each time I relocate. Since 1994, that’s been about 5 times (though another book in my duffel this weekend has a 1989 receipt marking where I left off about or 5 or 6 more moves prior to that). My life experience/knowledge sometimes lies around just as long or longer before I really put it to good use.

I’m not far enough into ‘Breakfast…’ to tell you what it’s about, if I’ll like it, etc., but know that parts of it will rub themselves deep into my fabric. No amount of life’s daily bleaching will lift it completely out.

Yes, these books wait for me. Luckily, my true friends wait as well.

RLM