(The girls are wide awake at 2am)
I know that for a lot of people the connotation of “recovery” involves sobriety, reflection, introspection and an attempt to make progress into a healthier and more rewarding lifestyle. For me, this annual day of Recovery starts with opening a bottle of wine at 2am, cooking up some mac n cheese (use half the mac, all the cheese powder, half and half and butter) and watching the first three episodes of Survivor, along with vague thoughts that I will progress into a healthier and more rewarding day. Then I drift back to sleep until 8 am, get up and I’m highly productive unpacking a winter’s worth of clothing, paper work, pantry and craft supplies, shoes and plants from the car. I find my vitamins, take a shower and go to the store to fill the empty frig. Mostly with impulse purchases that look good because I’m really really hungry again now that it’s 1030 am.
I come home and pet, play with, fondle and share my rotisserie chicken with the girls while admiring the amazing view, dumbstruck all over again. Then I decide it’s time for another glass of wine (or two.) Then, I start wandering around in a semi-aimless funk looking for the biotin because I’m worried that my hair is falling out from the stress of yesterday’s drive and wondering why it isn’t in the box with all the other vitamins. And then it’s time for a nap.
Frankly, I’m not sure that it’s smart at any age to drive 653 miles, non-stop, in one day with two felines, one hanging on by ancient claws to your lap, helping you brake at every clusterfuck on I-95 and one- the heavier one at 14#- wrapped around your neck like an airline pillow. At 67, I think it’s probably stupid. Especially without stopping for food and only once for gas and to walk Sophie to the back of the Suburu to the litter box. But we made it, starting at 6 am, circumnavigating one accident and humming “Satisfaction” through the last. A mere 37 miles from home we sat at a dead stop for 40 minutes. So close, so far away. Home by 530 pm, unpacked by 6, showered and watching the news by 630, in bed by 830 and up at 2am to start my Recovery Day.
On the other hand, the rewards of leaving the house months ago as though I was going to die pay off. The sheets are clean, the dishwasher is empty, there’s a clean litter box waiting for the girls, the filter on the refrigerator ice dispenser is raring to go.
(Willow only got so far this morning before she realized that it was not 80 degrees and there were no lizards in sight.)
I woke up to fresh snow. What?!?!? It was supposed to be Spring! But still, there’s a hint of it, the view is spectacular and my calendar is full. I’m ready to make the transition to fiber artist and gardener for the year. And tonight is mahjong! More wine! Good friends! Hurray!
Tomorrow I’ll get seriously straight. In the meantime: GO #nationalwalkoutday!!