So my appalling mood last week swelled exponentially like some alien infection until I made the call last Thursday at the office – Friday will not find me darkening my work space with maleovalent ill-humour at all in fact I shall take a days leave (gulp). A momentous decision for me as I am, sadly (but I’m working on it *excuse the pun*), one of those annoying workaholics who is bound to their desk and computer by unbreakable cords. To prevent me from wimping out and still reporting for duty I told as many people as possible of my plans.
It’s going to sound awfully cliche’d but anyway – what a difference 24 hours makes! I still poked my nose out with the sparrows but got so much done (yes chores but still) – by the time I would usually be quaffing a very large cup of “proper” coffee for inspiration I had hung out two loads of washing, done the post office thing, been to drop off stuff at our local animal welfare and was sedately meandering down the hill to the shopping mall for some retail therapy. The post lunch schlumph didn’t dare show it’s face as by that time I was home and beavering away in the fresh air and sunshine planting and pruning and tidying up the garden.
The knock-on effect of course was that the weekend per se’ was a lazy, indulgent relaxing breeze as all the chaos and stuff had been taken care of on a work day.
The problematic bit is that now I know how good it can be it’s got to happen more often – wonder what “he whose name is on the letterhead” will have to say about that?
“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ” ~e.e. cummings, 1955