Such a rare thing to the freelancer or writer, the day off. An actual day where you not only don’t do any work (or billable hours) but you don’t even THINK about it.
Okay, maybe that last was a bit too much to ask for. But I did manage to spend a lovely Saturday with thousands and thousands of my best neighbors, hanging out in Central Park, soaking up solstice sun, rehydrating frequently, and otherwise pretty much lazing about. I read a book [AN ENTIRE BOOK! START TO FINISH!] and started another, and got only slightly sunburnt, and rounded out the day with dinner with a friend, and was asleep silly-early, so I got a full 8 hours before the feline overlords woke me up.
The plan had been to make Sunday a repeat of Saturday, only in a different park, and I did in fact spend time under the vitamin-D-granting sun – but then I retreated back to the cool, dark cave, where I read some more, cleaned and sorted things, and, well, napped. Â A lot.
It was nice, all things considered. Â But now it’s back to work, starting with a culling of the spam and answering of emails that arrived over the weekend…. silly people, don’t YOU take days off?