… a day not overwhelmed by a stuffed up nose and headache, unaffected by house-buying stress, resolutely undeterred by the persistent lack of publication, complacent in the face of pregnancy discomfort, and genuinely cheered by the ability to sink one’s teeth into a good project or two.
Happiness is today just being today.
This was mine:
Wake from dream of puppies to gray, drizzly, sleepy sound of rain.
Breakfast: 2 units of oatmeal cookie, 1 boiled egg, 1.5 glasses milk. Pleased with fiber and protein intake. Check email and Facebook while egg boils.
Morning spent sorting pictures for nonprofit. Small break taken to facilitate the loud playing of Christmas carols in work space. Form mental note to purchase more Christmas music.
Noon telephone meeting with boss. Mutually complimentary and cordial. Even useful. Consider making sandwich, but phone rings again and it’s brother on the way to work, so flop on the couch to chat about the new season of Downton Abbey instead. Brother says that there are major surprises to come in the season—people die, people come back from the dead. Promises delicious historical soapiness. Appetite: whetted.
Lunch: reuben sandwich, heavy on swiss. 1.5 glasses water. Feel smug about the water, prefer not to think about the sandwich.
Urge to be domestic strikes. Wash sink and counterworth of dishes. Think about phoning the coffee maker company to pursue warranty re: faulty water flow. Decide against. Have ALL afternoon to make calls…
Put on increasingly snuggish exercise pants and sweatshirt and do 2 laps around the complex. 80 yr old woman chucking garbage in the dumpster as I round the second to last corner; calls “go get ’em!” in encouraging fashion as I pass. Decide that old ladies are kind of the cutest.
Home to shower and write. YES. Actually write. On my book. A book I might, conceivably, try to publish. Extra special shot of self-satisfaction. Which devolves after 1.5 hours into checking email and chatting on baby forum.
Redeem what remains of the late afternoon by making enormous pan of lasagna. Then, because time remains, make salad and garlic bread. Can’t remember the last time dinner involved more than 2 components. Am amazing; pregnancy is a breeze.
Almost fall asleep at dinner—as soon as quota of melted cheese and carbs have been consumed. Quota roughly comparable to amount eaten by entire college hockey team. Smugness dips. Lie on the couch, blinking occasionally for 45 minutes. Husband gives updates on housing situation. Attempt to retain even 30% of information received.
Weird ache in leg muscles as I drag myself to the closet for coat and shoes. Head still fuzzy. Pack bag and shuffle off with husband to coffee shop for evening work session. Fully intend to write. Fully intend to order caffeine free tea.
Order dark hot chocolate with an extra shot of mint.
But no whipped cream. Let’s not be crazy here.
Pop open lap top and think about writing. Don’t. Read more blogs. Drink hot chocolate. Feel baby rocking out courtesy sugar buzz.
Gaze across at hard-working husband with contented, bovine expression promised self would never make, but figure that one-third of self promises are silly anyway. One-third are out of date after six months. The last third are maybe worth keeping. Maybe.
Reflect on this briefly and decide it’s not nearly as good as it sounded at first.
Suddenly remember failed plan to call the coffee maker company. Too sleepy to contemplate self-loathing. Coffee maker can wait.
And keep my ambition company. Pretty sure this is the end of my productivity today. Cheers and goodnight, friends.