Commentary by Danielle Wilson
I’m not going to lie, people. I’m having one heck of a good weekend. Doo and I decided to take advantage of my parents’ snowbirding agenda and snagged a few days with them in their Florida rental. No kids, no shoes, and most importantly, no responsibilities whatsoever. Heaven, my dear friends. HEAVEN.
But I find myself struggling to slow down. I woke up this morning and nearly hopped out of bed just so I could get to the beach. Then I realized it was only 5:30 a.m. I had to mentally talk myself into staying put and enjoying the next few hours of dozing. Once I did finally arise, I again had to squelch the need to get moving. What’s the hurry when the only thing planned is an early dinner and Jeopardy?
Which just goes to reinforce my dream of retiring early. A few months on the sunny Gulf Coast, days spent working jigsaw puzzles and playing bingo (mom goes once a week!), and evenings passed with microwaved potatoes and game shows. Believe me when I say I was made for the geriatric lifestyle.
But I digress. Back to me and my inability to slow the frick down. I suppose it’s a survival mechanism. I have to constantly be “on it” at home or else my youngest will be abandoned at dance or the dog won’t be fed, or God forbid, we’ll run out of milk. Juggling work, family and the house is so mentally and physically taxing that I simply don’t have time to let my guard down. And because I’ve been in high gear for years now, I often operate on full power subconsciously. Which, come to think of it, is probably why I never feel rested in the morning. I’ve actually been in a scheduling meeting all night!
The real bugger is that by the time I adjust to the slower pace, my brief vacay will be over and I’ll be right back in the mix, having to pay the Catch-up Piper for my few moments of heaven. But even a small slice is worth it!