Finding my 'me time' in a world that doesn't have enough hours in a day

Some days, my me time is those precious few moments after I walk in the door, before Sunshine gets home. In those few moments, I can pretend that I don't have to worry about dinner, or dirty dishes, or getting the coffee pot ready for the next day, or any of that stuff. Those few moments, though, always feel stolen and never last long enough.

I got two days in a row off work. I am quite sure that I am now in store for 7 days straight with no day off, which is going to suck. What that means to me, right now, is this: I am using these two days to sit on my ass and do what I fucking want to do to feed my spirit and rest my soul. I am also, in between bouts of selfishness, front-loading my time for the next week or so.

All of the laundry will be done by this afternoon so that I have a few days of clean clothes for work before I have to deal with a late night laundry marathon mid week. Sunshine's office wenching is done for the time being. I will have the house clean shortly, so that it can hold its own for a few days.

The best part? Yesterday. I totally did what I fucking wanted to do yesterday, including mindless shopping. I also got my nails touched up, because the nails have had the unexpected benefit of making it hard to pick at my latest citric acid outbreak, which makes it so much easier to cover and so much easier to get rid of quickly.

Shopping. Aaah. I scored an Akris Punto jacket that fits me so beautiful and will look so smashing with skinny jeans just as soon as that first hint of autumn comes blowing in. Also, tweed pants. Because I fucking wanted them.

I'm glad my sponsor told me to take some me time. It averted a massive thermonuclear meltdown and gave me some peace of mind. Enough peace of mind that I am actually ready for the next phase of my stepwork, which ironically enough involves another list. We recovery folks apparently need lists like fish need water.

And never fear, folks. A potential thermonuclear implosion awaits me when Sunshine takes me to Dallas in a week or two. He has promised to take me by my favorite consignment shop over there. I smell a shoe binge coming on. And maybe a fabulous top or two. (Don't worry Joules, I still have a wad of cash set aside for those stupendously expensive shades I have my eyes on, and I'm only a few dollars away from making the call to order them. If I didn't have a trip to the DFW metroplex on the horizon, they'd be here already.)

My point is, today feels good, in spite of the fact that there is housework involved. Today feels like life should feel.

For the record, life should feel like a smile. Life should feel like laughing. Life should feel like my little doggie's fur against my face. Life should feel like Sunshine kissing me on his way out the door. Life should feel like this, because this is all there is.

This moment will never happen again. This moment is precious. This moment is beautiful.

This moment is the result of following my sponsor's suggestion and finding some me time. Because I am fucking worth it.