It’s true, I had to work today, Thanksgiving.
It is also true, I felt like I had the day off, for part of the day, anyway.
I slept in. I got dressed when I felt like it, and I then went for a long, long run along the sidewalk that stretches forever along the beach.
Afterward, when I think I could have run some more, I didn’t, and instead, I unfolded my beach chair, and listened to music as I looked out at the ocean for a long, long time as I sat very still.
I took a handful of photos. I didn’t care that I missed the one of the cute toddler dressed all in red, including a red hat.
I did not get sunburned. I got something no one should call “healthy color.”
Back home in my apartment, I fought with, and lost, setting up a gmail chat with someone.
I tried to pack for a quick overnight to D.C. tomorrow, and felt quite stumped about what cold-weather clothing to pack.
I had a fine night at work at the podium, despite glitches, because I was back on the floor during a night shift.
I remembered that I will work nights again soon enough, although not soon enough for me.
I ate turkey and had a couple of glasses of wine with the staff. But I didn’t stay long. I just didn’t. I just couldn’t.
I reminded myself to remember that I have to remember that my GM has asked me to feed his cat while he is away for a few days, and to do the banks–yet another new administrative chore that feels like mapping Mars, to me.
I went home. I felt sad for a bit.
I remembered to give thanks for the good. I remembered to give myself permission to feel sad, when I do.
I gave many, many thanks, through a few tears.
I need to thank someone, for sure, for this view of someone else’s picnic that presented itself directly in front of my beach chair, on this Thanksgiving. Because today I was, after all, where I have chosen to be.