I have a couple of days off.
I may take the afternoons and go to the theatre and work. The set construction is not progressing fast enough for me, and sometimes you can accomplish a lot when there are no distractions.
I may not do that at all.
I may take a day to mow the lawn and trim around flower beds and trees and other stuff that will not, with a sense of self preservation, jump out of my way.
Or I may take a day or two and sort (read mostly throw away) the dozen or so large cardboard boxes someone mysteriously placed in my den, effectively blocking the storage units this stuff is supposed to be in.
I could do that. I could. I really could.
But I won’t. I mean, just look at this stuff. Is this how you want to spend your free time? It’s depressing.
(You’re starting to detect a pattern here, aren’t you?)
I could work on the play I entered in a competition. I should do that – finish it. It would serve me right if somebody actually wanted to read it. Oh. I forgot. The manager of a local theatre DOES want to read it. Pressure. Hey! It’s my day off! Don’t give me pressure on my day off! (Besides. The dog won’t let me.)
There’s a charming restaurant on the Ohio river that serves the best pasta in the world. I’ve been thinking about that lately. Across the street is a paddle wheel boat with a tiny bar on the top deck. After a good meal you can sit comfortable in top deck lounge chairs and watch large ships waft up and down the river.