This morning, I’m actually quite displeased with myself, enough so that I believe this will be the last time that I fail to take the time off from work. I realized last year, finally, that I also really prefer to not work on my birthday, and I’ve already got that date jotted down on our work calendar. Today is day eight of an eight consecutive work day stretch, and I do. not. want. I want to stay home and immerse myself in the presence of my Beloved. I want to walk to the river (which wouldn’t happen today even if I was staying home, thanks to a pulled and pissed off knee). I want to write letters, I want to write crappy poetry, I want to read bits about Him that I’ve written, and that others have written. I want to bask.
Instead, I’ll go and put stock away. *sigh*
I’ll drink copious amounts of caffeine. I’ll maybe write a bit when I get home. Certainly I’ll spend some extra time in meditation. I’ll rest my knee, so that it does not set off the sciatica — oh, you jealous nerve, how you want in on all the pain action! I felt those twinges last night! — Tomorrow I will attend to chores and rest some more, and enjoy the time off. I will take to heart how much I want this time off next year, and maybe I’ll remember to plan for it.
I’m not sure when it happened, but anniversaries matter to me now, and I’ll start marking them.