Here it is, 10pm on a Sunday night.
I keep having random moments of panic because I haven't prepared for the workweek... did I do laundry? Did I make lunches? Do I remember what my order of priorities is going to be for Monday and the rest of the week? Do I need to go in extra early tomorrow for any special cultures or last-minute requests? Right now is the time I should be going to bed.
It appears that it has not yet sunk in that I'm not going back to work. I don't have to worry about any of that stuff, but my subconscious is totally trained to constantly worry about it. If I always worry, then I won't forget anything important... or so goes the theory.
And so, in a blatant refusal to give in to the instinct to prep for the workweek, I went for a small hike with the puppy and spent the rest of the day playing a new video game and eating the last of the Christmas fudge. It was glorious.
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As I was writing this, there was loud deep thumping outside right as lights flashed from the front yard into the house. Stormy went nuts, and I wondered if aliens had landed on our lawn.
Turns out a neighbor had just knocked over their recycling bin whilst wildly flailing a flashlight. Oops, I guess I do have one responsibility today... Sunday is trash night.
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Here's hoping the reality of my life's major transition sinks in soon. And that aliens don't land on the front lawn, unless they're friendly.
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