(Yes, I’ve been tracking the election count, and yes, I’ll have more to say here about that. Later. ‘Cos every time I think about commenting before the race is called, I hear Toby Ziegler in my head: “You want to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing?” So mum’s the word—for now.)
Anyhow, on the domestic front, I’ve got a day off today. In fact I have a few 3-day weekends coming up during November and December. We can thank COVID for that: Mr. Mezzo and I were planning two fun getaways during the spring (1 to DC in March and 1 to Boston for May) but neither of those happened—of course—on account of the world shutting down.
Those 2 cancelled trips add up to more than a week of vacation time I didn’t cash in, and since my company has a strict policy regarding how many days you can carry over from year to year, I’ve got some time to burn. So: 3-day weekends galore!
Throughout the day, I’ve been very aware of the volume of my internal self-talk regarding how I ought to be spending this time productively. Like, if my workday goals are to unpack 3 Solstice Village buildings and put away 10 items of laundry, then my day-off goals should be for all the buildings and all the laundry. Right?!?
At least, that’s now how I’m playing things. In the interest of ongoing, incremental progress, I have kept up with my small goals, and I may even have surpassed one or two of them a wee bit—which, quite honestly, is something I do on the occasional workday, too.
But every time my internal finger-wagger wants to lay out a self-critical monologue, I’m pressing the pause button.
This is a stressful week embedded into the later quarter of an incredibly stressful year.* It is MORE than okay if I want to take some breathing room (when I’m lucky enough to have the chance to do so).
Quite frankly, considering how long I’m stretching it between hair-washings these days, it would be a huge victory all of its own if I manage to get into the shower this evening.**
Beyond that—and, honestly, even if I don’t get into the shower later—I will consider today’s time very well wasted if I go to bed feeling good about myself and, I hope, just a little bit more refreshed and refilled than I was when today started.
* Right hand to Gaia: somewhere in the not-to-far-future, “2020” will have become its own adjective, indicating something wildly and unexpectedly fucked up. “I was really looking forward to that concert, but what was up with that band?!? The show was SO 2020…“
** #SorryNotSorry for the TMI depression detail.
Disco Ball: Pixabay. Open license.