I woke up today feeling accomplished and well rested, and eager to start writing day. I cooked a good breakfast, did my morning pages, watered the plants and brought in the garbage cans, did my singing practice, ripped and cut five magazines and ripped ten more, ran errands with Erik, downloaded a ridiculous bunch of music, and wrote a journal entry I really liked. But somehow I didn’t get to what I wanted to do today: read Virginia Woolf and write out my meditations on my reading, do some Artist’s Way, blog on something I’ve been thinking about lately, and write a story. But oh well; my day wasn’t wasted.
Now I’ve got a headache (though a short ramble helped — and we saw many bunnies and some quails!) and tomorrow I have singing practice and then we’re driving up to Sacramento to see Jackie at her grandma’s, so it won’t be much of a work day either. But so it goes. I have a good life and I can’t complain.