Today was a day off.
A long awaited, much anticipated, jealously guarded day off.
A day off work.
A day off dealing with my Mom and her house.
A day off from feeling stress and panic and worry and anxiousness.
There were times in the past six weeks that I felt like little pops of sweat or something were just exploding out from the pores of my skin. Just like in the comics.
That didn't happen today.
I felt a bit lost. A lot relieved. Grateful for your wonderful comments. Tired. (Though I slept 11 hours, I think). Still tired.
And very happy I could finally turn my attention to my own home.
I concentrated on the bathrooms and the kitchen. My desk is a comfortable mess and I left it that way. Just sort of took a stab at the living room. I got the machines going. Changed three lightbulbs so I could see. We know what to do.
I'm not done. There's more to attend to. But I am treating it like a treat--like I get to lavish some love on my things and wash, and wash, and fold and fluff and putter. Love puttering.
It's good to be home--even if it isn't perfect.