It is the lovely, luscious week between Christmas and New Year's Day, and I am off work. Long, beautiful days of reading, eating, writing, watching drippy Hallmark movies, doing needlwork, and walking the dog. Napping when I want to nap. Accomplishing nothing more difficult than a jigsaw puzzle. With a tiny tiny bit of housework thrown in, just to keep me from being completely indolent. I could definitely get used to all this freedom.
Even while I'm soaking up the rest, though, there's that stupid little part of my brain that niggles and wriggles like a worm in the cake, that says "You have to go back to work in six days." "You have to go back to work in five days." "Now only four..." I tell the voice to shut up, but it's persistent. I don't know why I do this to myself.
The stupid thing is, I enjoy my job and I'm not really dreading going back. The people are nice, it feels good to be able to put food on the table (obviously, since I've been eating so much of it this week!), and I have a lot of free rein in my work. It's challenging and interesting and full of change and variety, yet not overwhelming.
I think it's the life-long problem I've always struggled with, of not being able to just be in the moment. Why can't I relax and just be now? Why do I always look forward? I know we gardeners tend to live in the future, because, after all, planting seeds is the ultimate in planning for the future. But other than potting up a bit of lettuce to go under the grow lights, I'm not gardening now. The yard is asleep under iron-hard earth, the tools are put away, and I can be in writer mode. I know if I look forward too much, I'll miss the wonderfulness going on in this moment, and I don't want to do that. Must learn to be here.
I look forward to the day I learn that lesson. :)
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