It occurred to me today that I haven’t had a weekend totally to myself – no family, no friends, no dates, no travels, no work stuff bearing down on me – since… November? Last weekend was supposed to be a “me” weekend, but fate intervened in a 26-hour period in which I did none of the things that I had planned to do and did other things that were… surprising. Fine, nothing worth recounting, but surprising. And no, I’m not going to say more than that because there really isn’t a thing in the world to say about it.
But so finally this weekend has been The Weekend of Me. Last night I just relaxed and got a good night’s sleep. I woke up this morning and began doing laundry. I honestly don’t think I’ve had a major laundry day in months (because old bad habits from when I didn’t have my own washer and dryer die hard). I also cleaned my toilet, ran the dishwasher, went to the grocery store, changed my bedding, and cooked a divine braised chicken. I am now having a glass of wine and watching You’ve Got Mail with commercials until figure skating comes on.
The Blacksmith remains an attentive communicator though we’ve not managed to get together in person, which is wearing thin, so. In other news, I’ve been bombarded with work stuff – including job candidate visits, service stuff, my annual activity report, research-related stuff, potential interest in a textbook that I would co-author with CF, grading (including the super-fun revelation that one of my students thinks it’s totally fine to pursue his white supremacist agenda in his very first assignment that he wrote for me) – friend activities, and weather (for it is a post-apocalyptic ice-covered wasteland here).
So if I’ve been quiet, those are the reasons why. I haven’t had room in my head for thinking, much less for writing (either here or for actual work-related things). But this weekend of hibernation and nesting might be just what the doctor ordered.