Me time

What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not?

 I woke up with my eyes still closed, to the humming and thumping around in the kitchen. Sean got up early to wash the dishes and run to the store, and as I woke up he was busy making french toast and dancing to “The boys of summer,” (even though it was 1 degrees Celsius at nine am).
He came to check if I was awake yet, and the aroma of fresh tea levitated my body out of its horizontal state and carried me across the tiny two-room apartment to the red pull out couch where we sat and enjoyed savoury french toast with fried mushrooms, tomatoes and bell peppers.
Most Saturday and Sunday mornings I feel pressed for time, that I must squeeze as much adventure juice out of each moment before Monday comes and it’s back to the grind of verbs and nouns and annoying adjectives.
But on other days, like this Saturday, when my belly and my heart are overflowing, I feel inspired to write and to do great things in my own time.
Me time means tea and coffee and books and episodes of Master Chef.
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