Daylight hours, to me, are the ultimate luxury. Getting to choose your activities in the middle of the day—particularly between the hours of nine and five—is the kind of freedom I dream about and the kind that makes me look out my office window longingly sometimes, wondering where the passing cars are headed to at 2:30 in the afternoon. It’s a classic grass-is-greener lie I’m telling myself, I know, but nonetheless it’s there.
That’s why I really love having a day off in the middle of the week. And today, there were plenty of things I could have done—my last haircut was October, people—but instead, I ambled around, playing with my blog HTML (then panicking when I had all but destroyed it), going to the post office (again!), calling and recalling my accountant, running to the library (and wasting too much time there) and going to the grocery store (really, who are all these people that shop in the middle of the day?).
Why is it that when I want time to pass quickly, it doesn’t, but when I want a day to linger, it disappears? This was my day to enjoy hours of free time and my choice of leisure, but before I knew it, it was past 5 PM and the chickens in the oven hadn’t even finished roasting. I’d also burned some kale, dropped everything from utensils to bits of garlic and developed a major strain in my neck from talking on the phone while trying to put together a recipe. In many ways, this would have been a failed day.
But for the potatoes.