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I decided to take a day off. One day per week is all I allot myself when I do decide that it’s okay to take a day off. I was successful, at first. I changed from PJs into roommate-appropriate PJs. I crawled out of bed, onto the sofa. I flipped on the TV. I tried to watch Ratotouille but.. something happened.

I stopped watching TV to do dishes, put my laundry in the washer, clean the floor around the garbage can, tidy and clean the kitchen counters and top of the stove. I almost successfully returned to doing nothing when I sat back down to play some MapleStory but after being disconnected, I hopped in the shower, which then prompted another series of things that looking nothing at all like relaxing: shaving my legs, cleaning the sink (so I can put shower stuff in it to clean the shower), wiping down the toilet, cleaning the shower, switching out the towels, refolding all the towels in my bathroom cabinet and Febreezing the living room furniture.

I swear I’m done now but that’s only because vacuuming is rude at midnight and I’m out of Lysol wipes.

I intended for today to be a lazy, do-nothin’ type of day. Yet, somehow, I feel accomplished. The plan was to stay in my pajamas for the few hours I’d be awake, do a little writing, catch a snack and go back to bed. While I still plan to hit the hay sooner than later (let me fill you in on a secret: it was already dark when I woke up today!), I feel as though I’ve already finished so much.

As I type this, I am winding down and watching a movie: The Nightmare Before Christmas (I’ve finally opened my collector’s edition–it’s only been over a year!). I wrote, rooted my phone, edited some final settings after my second Windows reinstall, put away laundry, showered and shaved and even cleaned the toilet. Combined with the cleaning I did this morning, I am some sort of awesome get-er-done robot. With boobs.

Perhaps I feel accomplished because I set out to do nothing and did anything at all. Regardless, it feels good and anxiety is low.