Freedom?

Everyone else in the house is gone. It’s just I (which never sounds right, even though that’s the correct way to say it). I’ll be alone until Sunday afternoon. You’d think this represents a time of complete freedom, and it is in the sense that there’s no responsibility to make dinner, do dishes, chivvy kids in/out of the shower. But when it comes right down to it (on this occasion, anyway), things won’t play out all that differently from normal day. I suppose I could let everything slide, put on my Hawaiian shirt and go find a place to party, but that’s never really been my style.

Plus, I’ve got stuff to do. There’s a dump run to be made, visits to the bank, library and BJs (the garbage bags they have now just don’t stay in the can right since they “improved” them). There are repairs to be made upstairs in the apartment. I need to get out on my bike again to work my ankle. I need to do some sheets.

My day will be full, and that brings peace to me.

Am I sad, or what?