The alarm went off as usual, clanggggggggggg, and the drudgery began; the showering, the shampooing, and the monotonous preening. Gawd, how I hate the preening. As a rule, I don’t expect much from Mondays. I’m happy if I start off with the right shoes on the right feet and my zipper up.
Then there was my commute, consisting of a hop on the interstate and a zip along mostly featureless roads. Followed by a trek across a crowded parking lot and a long slog to my workspace. I used the time to inspire myself with a rousing pep talk.
When I arrived at my desk, I was prepared to cheerfully do my duty — in accordance with Girl Scout bylaws. I sat quietly and awaited my assignment. Instead, I got a call from the governor; I’d been pardoned. Set free. Released. There was no work for me today. Suddenly I was Ferris Bueller.
With a song in my heart and a spring in my step, I blew that pop stand. My first stop? The ATM, of course. Then McDonald’s for an Egg McMuffin and hash browns. The morning had turned glorious. Literally. Overcast skies had, magically, become sunny and clear. The birds were singing. and the breeze was blowing.
I sat outside Mickey D’s, noshing on a breakfast that had never tasted so good — although I’ve had it a hundred times. I watched the cars go by and smelled the lilac-scented air and breathed deep. I forget to do that sometimes, breathe deep. It feels good, you know? Just breathing in and out.
Then I came home, strapped on my backpack, and hiked off to the library where I spent the rest of the morning. Now? I’m off for a walk with the man I love — my dear old dog, Bart. It’s been a lovely, relaxing day, a gift, really. It was like playing hooky, only better: My day off, you see, was sanctioned.
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