Saturday Salvation

Last week was unnecessarily crappy, through no one’s fault but my own and my hormones (“thanks,” period). It culminated Friday—short story: I was guilted into going to a luncheon, and then, upon my return, guilted into working late for not getting my work done (because I was at the luncheon). On the one hand: That’s a lose-lose there. On the other hand: I should’ve just agreed to the luncheon weeks ago and not procrastinated on my other stuff.

So 7:30 Saturday morning, I was back at the computer. Finished up around 10 and sent it off to my boss, completely unsure if my rush job was sufficient and half-expecting (as I always do, really) to get back a list of additional work to do on it.

I rode my bike to Publix, bought slightly more than should have, and rode back with a box of rigatoni wind resistance sticking up out of the top of my backpack.

When I checked my email again, I had a note from boss that read, verbatim, “This is awesome! Better than I could have hoped! Thank you so much!” Bless her for her enthusiasm—she knows I’m a special mental case who needs that kind of stuff, and even if she’s overcompensating for my deficiencies, that kind of praise still works wonders on my mood.

I still had to finish up some sidebars, so I spent most of the afternoon on the computer—all the while, friend after Florida friend posted on Facebook about the lovely, lovely weather outside. ‘Nuff said. Around 4, I finished up my work, I put on my bikini top and headed toward the beach with a chair, my Kindle and a G2 bottle filled with mango-vodka smoothie.

saturday salvation

I cannot begin to explain how lovely it was. “Magical”? “Transcendent”? The breeze was just cool enough and the sun just warm enough—like a hypnotic, undulating balance between the two temperatures. After 15 minutes, I was felt like this was not an ordinary kind of unwinding. It was way more than your usual, “The weather is really nice, I’m glad I’m outside, deep breath, ah” kind of relaxation. It was trance-like. I sat there for an hour with nary an impulse to fidget. The usual ways my mind wanders into worry had all been disabled.  It was basically a religious experience. It stuck with me for hours.

And then later that night, Little J and the Deelios came over and we all walked to the beach again and I went to go pee and fell down and got sand in my bum. The end. (Heh.)


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