Taking My Time
There are days of super productivity or of giving myself to the tasks at hand or even just a lot of meetings on the schedule.
Today is not one of those todays.
Today is a day where I sleep in, get up late, and still fit my morning pages in. And then I somehow get outside for a run with Carter too. And the day will be warm, but the air is still cool. We pass this woman with a beagle mix and two sleek, muscular pit bulls. She always stops and has the dogs sit and wait while I go by with my dog – her voice calm and low when she says hello. The dogs look happy and friendly, but her actions tell me to keep my distance. She owns her dogs.
Today I feel great, full of peanut butter and banana breakfast with some coffee I accidentally watered down. I check email on my phone and drive to therapy. Thoughts from my weekend away are the focus, but other things like my personality, sister and view of the world trickle in. It feels good to blab all of this out, especially to someone who is encouraging and still objective.
Off to a lunch meeting where I get to trade more ideas about work, goals and career paths.
But as the afternoon slips by, emails read and all, I feel my energy sinking. In fact, I feel a great need to lay down, so I do. A nap, then, though I’m not sure I fall asleep at all.
And my evening walk with Carter is slow and hot, the setting sun a blaze in my face as we walk home westward. And I just feel like crap.
H is downstairs playing guitar. There are turkey burgers to cook, rooms to clean before my parents visit this weekend, projects of my own I think I want to do and even work to catch up on or books to read. None of this feels possible.
The only thing that feels possible, besides writing this into the world, is laying in bed. And looking at Cute Overload.
So that’s what I do. And I laugh at the cuteness, and ask H to cook dinner, and I start to feel better. Maybe not super-crazy-productive better, but not bad anymore.
And that’s a good thing.