It’s Monday and I’ve taken the day off from work. Today is my birthday and my plan is to do whatever I want. Right now I am sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop and a cappuccino pretending to be someone who really gets to do this. In my fantasy life, I’d be in a sunny little studio at the very pointy top of my house. I’d be able to look out the window and see the Long Island Sound in the distance. Never mind: this is good too. And I get why some writers seek out tables at B&N rather than work at home at their kitchen table, away from the piles of papers needing sorting, floors needing washing or dog begging for a walk.
It’s a gorgeous day – the sun is bright and air brisk so I will take dear Tetley for a walk later – maybe even to the beach. If it warms up enough, I’ll eat a lunch of cheesy leek, roasted cauliflower frittata leftovers out in the back garden near the blooming hyacinth and daffodils. Maybe I’ll garden a little — first pick up some topsoil and mulch to freshen up the veggie garden and plant early crops of peas, lettuce and arugula.
There’s a yoga class at 4:00 I might go to if I can bring myself to leave the sunshine for a darkened room.
I’ll try really hard not to check my work email, reminding myself I am not a heart surgeon and no one will die if I don’t get back to them today.
It’s not quite 9 a.m. and I already feel fawned-over and loved – roses from my daughter, expensive lotion from my guy, texts, emails and messages from friends.
I’m glad to be alive. All day I am going to pay attention to and celebrate just that.