I’m going to need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I woke early despite ensuring all clocks and noise makers were deactivated. The shenanigans from the day prior were a success. “Good cheer”, indeed!
But as I entered the bend into the final week of June, and with it, the final challenge, I felt that maybe I had simultaneously set my sights too low and too high at the same time.
Nothing spectacular was happening. I hadn’t won the lottery. (Spoiler, I had only bought a couple of tickets for the lottery any way. Who am I trying to kid.) I had received items that went towards some of the greater goals, but I was more likely to have a basket of kittens materialize in my lap than I was to receive the entirety of these goals in the remaining seven days.
Coffee and morning yoga came and went. Laundry kept me occupied as I honestly assessed what was no longer acceptable to wear to work and what items I needed to replace immediately.
My daughter kept my spirits up. Doubt dragged them back down. Revenge of take out dinner kept me in the bathroom. My terrible sense of humor openly wondered if I had drawn the shoal sigil with the intention of “Good Eats”, if I would still have the same outcome.
My inner killjoy answered that bacteria are no respecters of good theater.