Every once in a while I recognize that I have been doing too much.
Today was one of those days.
I set my "out of office" at 2 PM letting folks know that I wouldn't be back 'til Tuesday. I only worked 50% of the hours of the day I ordinarily work (This is despite an early waking hour, a workout that was done by 8 and desperately wishing I could have taken the entire day off -- can you say, "burnt-out inefficiency?").
I finally committed to actually taking the Monday holiday. I'll get to spend it running in SF, reading, and with friends, E, and my mom, her husband, and brother at the Giants' Game.
I'm so excited.
It's been a long time since I decided I wouldn't work at all during a weekend. This is, my friends, one of the dangers of a) being your own boss; b) being married to someone who is their own boss; c) being 1/2 of a couple who is ridiculously driven; and d) not allowing children to force you to do things you should probably do anyways.
But this weekend, it's time.
Relaxation is here. At home. In our house. Some gardening. Some cooking. Some running. But nothing too taxing.
I've got one more contract to get out (one of the recipients of the out of office actually got a real-time response -- it's better just to get it done, so I must focus...).
But I already wrote off 2 hours this afternoon to go visit a friend I hadn't seen in a long time, and even though I'm technically back at work at my desk, I've already started cooking an elaborate dinner, planning the weekend menu, and just generally checking out of work stuff and into pleasure stuff.
It feels foreign. But good.
In fact, I think I need to do this more often...