I’ve blown up the heater, again. Both of them. First the ducted heating, then the little beige buzzy thing I set up to replace it. That went within ten minutes of me turning it on, so I suppose this means we really will need to get the fire going tonight. (Not a tragedy. I so adore the warmth and romance of a wood fire, don’t you?)
I thought I’d do a bit of a waffle session on the blog, today. The ‘soft girl’ has been punishing you all with philosophical musings for quite a few days now, and let’s face it— some days are absolutely made for waffling. Today is one of them. Friday! My favorite day of the week.
Friday is like a deep breath, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s even a gasp, for some, like breaching the surface of a way too deep week of work. The end of the working week is a comfort that most of us cling to as a means of reward, celebration, and escape. And, by most of us, I mean…me. I’ve always loved that about Friday, the feeling of peace and closure attached to it.
But I also hate that. Why should we (human folk) feel the need to rush through life, just so we can make it to that place where all the good things live. Family. Me time. Time to work for ‘the self’, rather than for ‘the self of someone else’.
I dream of the day we all slot into our perfect puzzle pieces. The day we all stand up and say, actually no. I feel there is something more for me, something that will light my soul on fire and have me feeling just a little less excited about Friday. About the weekend.
Yes, I’m a dreamer. But it’s possible. Anything is.