I had a stress dream last night that I was overseeing a 50-person business proposal in a humongous glass building.
When I told my staff they had to work thru the weekend, they initiated a mutiny against me.
So I spent the rest of the dream unsuccessfully begging my way back into their good graces.
Good grief.
I don’t think you can get a more first-world-problem dream than that.
Regardless, I woke up mentally exhausted.
I think it’s going to be a 2-cuppa morning.
It’s not a big leap, figuring out that dream.
I am, and have always been, very involved with my work. My own choice. I happen to like what I do.
That being said, come April 1, my days are going to get overbooked. For how long, I know not. But I know it’s coming.
I can see the wave approaching.
In theory it’s all going to be fine. Nothing too daunting. Just crowded for a time.
Had I been a scout, I’d have my badges ready.
I simply need to ensure that the work/life balance I vowed to uphold in 2019 is being honoured and protected in 2022.
Like a flower to the sun, I tend to lean towards work. Three years ago I told myself to straighten up.
Sometimes I slip.
So today is going to be a lazy seventh day:
- A warm beverage in bed accompanied by on-purpose slightly burnt toast covered with Irish butter.
- Absolutely the NYTIMES wordle and spelling bee challenges.
- Maybe eke in a few minutes over at Instagram.
- Tonight it’s a Bolognese dinner and a movie.
- And somewhere in the middle there’s a shower and wine store run.
That’s it.
That’s my entire day planned out.
If “planned” is even the right word.
And I make no bones about it … I am all too aware of the shamrock I hold.
Stay safe.
Happy Sunday.