Yesterday was a torrential rain day. I never got out of my pajamas and I spent far too much time playing Candy Crush (for the first time in years).
At about 6PM, I thought, “I have wasted my day! I should…” and then I stopped myself. A decade ago, I could easily have taken a rainy Sunday as a chance to do nothing much. To watch some television, putter around the house, play some video games, maybe read a book. At 6PM, I might have felt guilty enough about my laziness to throw a load of laundry in the washer, but I might not have, too.
Somehow life in a van and, I suppose, self-employment makes me feel like I have to do things every day. All the things. I have to run errands and write words and go for good walks and check social media and answer email and read books and work on becoming a better meditator/photographer/cover designer/inspiration of the day…
But yesterday was just a lazy day. It was chilly and wet and the van was cozy and it was nice to be snuggled under the covers with Zelda on my feet. And I have no regrets. As I look at my week ahead — a busy week, which I expect to end in some other state, maybe Texas by next Monday? — I’m glad that I appreciated my rainy day as an opportunity to do nothing.
And now, to do all the things…
Tracie Hall said:
Sounds like a lovely day and I’m proud of you for resisting to-do crap and appreciating Zelda, rain, and nature. Great capture of the beautiful peacock!
Thanks! It was a nice day, very peaceful, but it’s making it hard to get going today, too. Must write!
Sarah Vivian said:
Here in Cornwall (UK) lazy rain is called that if it is too lazy to go around you, and just goes straight through instead, so rain in high winds….. thought you might like to know!
Love your writing, thank you, Sarah x
That is very cool! This wasn’t really lazy rain, then — it was pouring straight down in buckets. Lots of it, though. Even opening the door for ten seconds to let Zelda out meant the floor and curtains getting wet.
Everyone needs a pajamma day now and then. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
🙂 Thank you!
I can totally commiserate with you. Being a Type A person, I have a real problem with guilt when I go through the days and don’t get anything accomplished. I tell myself at the beginning of each day that I’m going to turn to and get busy doing. Then I get on the computer and happily play Mahjong or Sherlock. Ah me… it’s the eternal question of, “Do I enjoy my days whether I produce anything or not? Or do I force myself to do things that I’d just as soon not be doing.” The answer is to do whatever you FEEL like doing and don’t lay a guilt trip on yourself for enjoying your life! Hugs, T
Good approach! But I do have to remind myself that I’m not retired. I do need to earn a living, which does sometimes mean doing things that I’m not terribly interested in doing.
Good for you! Everyone one should take a pajama day now and then. Peacocks on playgrounds…..only in Florida! So much to love there, you really never know what you may see.
People joke about stories that start with “Florida man…” Whatever follows that is bound to be really strange. But it’s one of the reasons I love Florida. It’s a place where the unexpected thrives!
Those days are good though rare for me. I love it when I have no where to go and a good book to read or show to binge. Glad you enjoyed yours.
A good book would have been better than Candy Crush. But I think the Candy Crush was part of the fun — serious, serious sense of time wasted, where a book or a show might have felt worthwhile.
Love that you embraced your personal mental health day. It’s weird how having work without a definitive beginning and end (like a semester, say) leaves you feeling like you’re on the clock 24/7 ~ or should be. At least that’s been my experience. Without those externally imposed breaks, we somehow seem to forget that we need them, too.
Anyway, it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me ~ but I’m still lurking about our here, checking in at the odd moment free from my “shoulds and oughts” and I’m glad you and Serenity are still flying . . . <3 Rebecca