I had volunteered for a work thing that started early, about forty-five minutes down the road. Given the travel and the report time, I had my alarm set for 4 a.m., a time that, I'll be honest, I'd rather not see again soon even given my status as a morning person. (And while I'm sort of off on a tangent: the darkness that was this hour was so complete that it reminded me of the hour described in Roald Dahl's The BFG where one can expect to be eaten alive by a dirty, hairy giant or have a dream blown into their window in the form of big, friendly giant belch. If you don't know what I'm talking about - read the book.:) Anyway. It was a really long day, but ended earlier than my typical release time of 5 PM. And with directions given to not report back to the office, I found myself with two unexpected hours of free time.
It's not that I don't have any free time. Obviously, every night after work I have a good four to five hours before I give in and go to sleep. But that time is so often filled with plans and zumba and yoga and making dinner and packing lunch for the next day and cleaning the kitchen, etc. etc. etc. Having just two hours that ordinarily would been filled with priorities, suddenly free, felt so relaxing. It was free time with no expectations, whether self-imposed or not.
So I did the only reasonable thing, and went to Massey's for a coconut milkshake because the weather was beautiful and in the sixties. And then, I went home, tied back the curtains to let in as much sunlight as possible, turned Erik Satie radio (yes it's piano music) on Pandora and read my book. It was quiet and still and relaxing and wonderful and needed.
[The Last Runaway]
[happiness recorded in a selfie]
It's the little things, you know?