It was a dark, wet, gray day yesterday and I admit I wish it had been snow instead of rain. I didn't have nothing pressing on my schedule other than running some errands like the dump and the pharmacy, which I was able to do in the morning before the rain came down, so I was happy to stay at home the rest of the day, doing some binge TV watching and knitting on a project I'm anxious to get done.
I find as long as I'm doing something productive I don't feel guilty taking an easy day. As I was knitting I was also working on something in the kitchen for New Year's Eve, so I felt quite happy to be accomplishing things while still staying home and spending a good deal of time on the couch. Usually those kinds of days are snow days. This was a bit different, listening the the calming sound of rain hitting the windows right behind my head, and I liked it.
Perhaps this is a sign of my age - the age when most people retire and spend much of their time like that. Or perhaps it was simply the sign of a tired lady who's been busy with the holidays and happy for a break from all that. I'm either case I was feeling my age. I don't mind it, I embrace it. But I also find some level of consternation in it. After all, I'm not the type to sit all that much and were that to be my entire future I'm not sure I could bear it. But I don't think it is. And once this weather passes and I'm done with my easy day, I rather thing I'll be up and out in no time, once again clamoring around from one activity to another, happily keeping busy and feeling as though I have purpose in the world.
So yesterday I simply let it happen. I cooked, I knit, I watched, and I rested. And it all seemed very, very nice.