I have been thinking it’s Monday ever since I woke this morning. Long weekends mess up my sense of what day it is, but I love them anyway.
And what did I do this weekend? Unplugged. Ignored email, slush piles, promotional activities. Worked in the garden, went to the movies, listened to live music, drank beer, went to the zoo, visited my parents’ graves at Fort Snelling National Cemetery, enjoyed my daughter, my partner, my friends. Cooked food from the St. Paul Farmer’s Market. Went to a local ice cream place, a much-beloved sign of summer, where the line wrapped around the corner, as a way to wrap up the holiday weekend.
And now I am loathe to be back in front of my computer, unwilling to be tethered again. This is always the great struggle in the summer, when what I really want is for things to be slower, for life to be something other than a mad dash to the next thing and the next and the next. It’s raining, which makes it easier.
But don’t expect me to stay put for long.