Perfect Days are like Awful Days: they catch us unaware like unexpected guests whose memories linger long after they've left. We all have a tendency to remember Awful Days above and beyond Perfect Days because they adhere to the rule spelt out by the media: only bad news is news. Yet, it never takes me longer than one minute to roll out my own Perfect Days, even when they happened eons ago.
Rich hopes that my writing work will sell well so that he can retire. When I protest that I want to retire too, he says that I've already done because I do not consider writing as work (while, in my view, it can't be considered work until I see payment for it, but that's another story). In the grand scheme of work-and-life things he is right; I am having a ball, as they say, and I've been having a ball since September and this full immersion into what I love officially began.
And so today I was telling a friend of mine that I am leading the Perfect Life and that I do not want to work ever again. I want to be a housewife, I want to be free to enjoy all I like to do without the sword of Damocles hovering above my head. Except for writing and academia of course, now, those wouldn't be swords, nor thundering clouds. We met for coffee(s), run a few errands, stopped by at her place, chatted some more, then I went home to tend to the guys, I got changed and headed downtown for a spot of Christmas Markets browsing. How I love these, let me count the ways! I know that German markets never have anything suitable for vegetarians (unless you're a bird) but I love them all the same. I am not one of those people who is only happy if she eats (but very nearly so).
The minor snag is that I do not want to do anything other than walking around and browsing, even when I have stuff to finish and I really ought to finish it right now. Still, there's always tomorrow, right? Or the weekend. Although I heard that The Polar Express is back at the IMAX and now that may take a whole day.