Laughter is carbonated holiness…. Anne Lamott
It's Friday. I look forward to Fridays, not because I work deathly hard all week and deserve a break--because truthfully I work almost every day of the month. Writing never really stops, and each day has little distinction except for Friday.
Friday my husband plays hockey well into the night and I get alone time. I do things like color my hair wacky colors, or play a video game, or watch my favorite old sitcom (Mary Tyler Moore) or binge watch Poldark. That last one I've been doing a lot lately.
I check my calendar and pretend I've met my goals, and I never make my bed on Friday. Out of all the housework I do and don't do (mostly don't do) making the bed makes the least sense. It's kind of like bagging groceries that are already in a bag. ie. potato chips.
Saturday through Thursday I live in the heads of people who only exist in my head. But Friday I live in my real made up world. I live it as me, but I pretend the world is a nice place where I needn't worry about anything, and I celebrate the good things like: my family, mochas, chip and dip...you know, all the important things. I let go of the things I have no control over and give myself permission to indulge in happiness.
Then I do the best thing of all, I drink prosecco. Ice chilled almost frozen prosecco. A good movie, my coloring books, and prosecco.