It’s Sunday.
11am.
And I’ve already been more productive than I was during the previous three days combined.
Interesting.
I’ve spent quite a lot of time lately trying to figure out what a normal working week should look like when you don’t actually have to follow one.
Monday to Friday seems reasonable.
It’s what I’ve been doing for most of my adult life.
And yet.
Thursday was a struggle. Friday wasn’t much better. Saturday came and went.
Lots of thinking about doing things.
Some actual doing things.
Not necessarily in that order.
Then Sunday arrived.
No particular plans. No meetings. Nobody expecting anything.
And apparently, that’s when my brain decided we should get some work done.
So here I am.
Writing. Making things. Getting through a list that had been looking at me rather accusingly for several days.
From bed.
It’s going remarkably well.
At this rate, I might actually get everything done.
On a Sunday.
Without getting dressed.
Thursday could learn a thing or two.
