I had an extra, glorious day off of work yesterday.
I have a very healthy list of things that I need to get done, but I only accomplished one: going to Tiffany to have the backs of my earrings tightened. And that's because I invited Lucy and Baby A along and we were content to spend a large stretch of the day wandering aimlessly around the mall.
We stopped to pick up a late lunch on the way home and then we collapsed in front of the television, watching The Killing while Baby A carefully inspected the basket of toys he dumped on the floor.
When I finally managed to haul my ass off of the couch, I went to the gym. I ran another quick errand. And then I stopped by Mom and Dad's house because I had something to pick up.
While I was there, I convinced my father to make me waffles.
It turned out to be a pretty good day.
I don't work today, either. It seems pretty awesome until I look ahead to the weekend. Working Saturday. Working Sunday.
I hate working on the weekends, when everyone else is off and doing fun things. But having random workdays off instead can actually be good for me. I'm much more likely to chill at home or, at the least, navigate the day at a normal pace.
I didn't even set my alarm today.
(That's embarrassingly rare for me.)
Maybe it's just the nature of January more than any major change in myself, but this month has been a quiet month and I've let it be so. I feel entirely unaccomplished and pretty lazy, but I'm not terribly worried about it. I'll go on longer runs in February. I'll read more books in February. I'll wear yoga pants less frequently and eat fewer cookies.
But today it is still January. And I am still in bed. And I plan to make the most of it.