I had a rare day for me. I didn't do anything. My beau pointed out that this is unusual for me on a weekend. I thought for a moment, and then I agreed with him. I am usually flitting off to grocery shop, visit a local attraction, rent a movie, do some laundry, cook, bake, write letters, or any combination of the above. I pride myself on getting things done, but also having time to read, watch movies, catch up on my email, all without leaving me feel like I haven't had a moment to myself.

But today I just felt tired. Tired in body, but not really in mind. I read, watched TV, vegetated on the couch. I saw that I should clean, vacuum, mop, or wash the window. I didn't do any one of those things though.

I think, when my love said it was okay for me to do that, I oddly felt less guilty about having spent the day like that. I wonder why that is. I think about it, and on some level I am always doing something. I have taken care of myself pretty much since I was 13. I didn't live on my own or anything, but I had to do my own laundry, chores, make my lunches, etc. I've lived on my own since college, and had to fend for myself. I'm not bragging nor complaining, just thinking as I type. I know if I don't do these things, nobody else will. I know that if I do them sooner rather than later, it will be easier to keep up with things.

There's always tomorrow. Is that why weekends have two days?