Last Day
This is my last day of vacation because Saturdays and Sundays don't count. So this time next week I'll be sitting here, probably about this same time (early) and counting the hours until quitting time that afternoon. Such is the way of life. With regard to what we would call good times (vacations for example) - we are either looking forward to them or dreading the end of them.
Except for the trip to the beach and the art studio with Stacey this week, I have stayed home. I'm good with that. After all here at home I have endless cups of free coffee, plenty of food, comfy slippers, my Kindle, my iPhone with games, coloring books and the second half of "Wilma" (world's next greatest novel for those of you who don't know who she is) to revise. Why go out? Pretty much everything I need is here.
I need this down time to recharge my batteries (the mental ones) to keep plugging along. I worry as little as possible, am grateful every day that the mail comes and "we" (the battery company we run as a family) aren't being sued! It's the little things that count.
I miss work - some. I miss my daily catch-ups with my friends. I miss the mental stimuli of tending to my work and realize (though I complain) that I do need my job to help me feel vital and to give purpose to my life. I remember well when my parents both retired fairly early and then sat in matching chairs rocking their days away until they died, which didn't take very long.
My extra days off, along with medicine, help me with my depression and anxieties. I need a little more quiet than others. I know this and so I arrange time off, generally without pay, to tend to myself. Luckily, I have bosses who understand my kind of "crazy" (which is my word for depression) and are okay with the down time.
Today I'm going to enjoy the dappled sunlight that comes into my living room in the mornings and sit quietly.
P
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