knox snooze

Succotash my Balzac, dipshiitake.

In which I elaborate upon something

I'm sad that the longest weekend of the year is gone. I lived it up, baby. Big meals, good wine, football on the television and naps in the afternoon. At one point I found my only reference for what day of the week it was was (holy crap, I said "was" twice in a row) whatever football game was on TV. Lions on Thursday, Texas on Friday, Tennessee on Saturday, and the other (slightly worse) Tennessee on Sunday.

You think I'm joking?

And you know how you go into a four-day weekend like that thinking about all the things you're going to get done? I wasn't. Seriously. Sure, there were things I needed to do - things I still need to do, actually - but I didn't pretend I was going to get any of it accomplished. Did I suffer for it? Do I feel guilty? Am I overwhelmed with tasks that I put off and now must slave through into the wee hours because it is, as they say, time to pay the piper? Not really.

It turns out that when I lower my expectations, even the most mundane shit excites me. I learned to make vegan gravy on Saturday night. I built a shoe rack yesterday. I took a couple of good dumps.

And I couldn't be prouder of me.
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