Alright, I did get to the laundry.

It passes in a snap. The whole Saturday that promised to be the deep breath of time to pay bills and wash clothes and bring the recycling down one measly flight of stairs. It's over. Already.

In some ways, this is a victory. Spending the day napping and watching DVD after DVD of Seinfeld, vaguely hungover from a week of concerts and birthday happy hours and surprise parties. I never used to be able to do that. The German Upbringing (however far back one must reach to find it) used to block the afternoon-still-in-pajamas possibility. Today I didn't make it to the shower until well after dinner and even then it was a bath. Pruney fingers and singing along to Ingrid Michaelson from the Macbook on the kitchen counter, Oscar snuggled into the bathroom sink observing, puzzled about why his owner was submerged in bubbles down below.

It feels so good to rest.

Even though it means that the empty cat food cans are piling up and the skirts still need to be hung and the bitter end of the Christmas cards remain unwritten. Mostly I just want to write:

Dear adored friend,

I clearly miss you. My life is so good. Please see The Blog for further details.

Happy '09,

And now, with no anxiety about it whatsoever, clean and warm and tired: to bed with a book at 10:30 pm.

No comments: