Yesterday morning, I awoke to a computer desk filled with half-started projects. Little piddly things that I couldn't wrap up during my Daycare Days. Small accumulations of 'stuff' that I didn't have time for in my (lack of) free evenings. Items that only needed a few minutes of uninterrupted time here and a clear mind for a half an hour there.
All that I needed was time. Just ... time.
So I raced around and cleared off the desk. I closed out the (many) open Windows on the computer. There was a state of completedness within the house that I had to leave behind. Then ... I worked.
Work is good. I like what I do. I could not work for a better person. I get paid to do this. I should not complain. All I need is an eight day week. I would be willing to work seven of those days if I could simply have one day off at the end.
That ... is what I shall receive this weekend.
Thank goodness for long weekends! I should not be complaining. I have not worked for two consecutive weekends. I just didn't 'bank' that state of weekendness effectively.
I came home to a relatively clear slate last night. All that I 'had' to do was accept a supper invitation from my sister. And I couldn't do it. I simply didn't want to do it. I had no social skills left inside me at the end of the day.
My Daycare Week was a busy one. I went out on a Thursday night which meant that groceries and washing-my-hair consumed one of the nights that preceded it. I got my hair cut & colored Friday night. Which meant that Friday night was a write off. Two hours sitting in a chair, while the house was left in its post-daycare-week state of unkemptness. Then I had to work yesterday. And today.
So I bailed on my sister. My kind hearted and willing-to-cook-me-supper sister. I feel like a schmuck.
I awoke this morning, knowing that I had little to do and more time in which to do it. And it hurt. It literally hurt. To write. To write!!
When my brain-to-fingertip connection is broken, I know that something needs to be tended. I am quite sure that all that I need to do to fix this ... is tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I don't have to do anything. Except laundry.
Funny how doing laundry is the easiest thing to do these days. I don't have to physically do it. I just have to move it. From the hamper to the washer. From the washer to the dryer. From the dryer back into various drawers and closets. I don't have to think. I don't have to be creative. I don't even have to move it until I am good and ready.
Maybe I'll do my laundry tonight so that tomorrow I really have nothing to do. Except write a letter to my mom. The envelope has been addressed. I have printed off a few blog posts and they are already enclosed. I already have a few pictures inserted into a Word document and it is saved on my desktop. The hard part is done. I just have to write.
That is all that I want to do tomorrow. Just write. Or not. All that I really want is time.
Thank goodness for long weekends.