Perfect Sunday.

I woke up this morning, rolled over in the sunlight, and realized several things in rapid succession.

One: It was ten a.m.
Two: I didn't have work.
Three: I wasn't at my parents' house.
Four: I could do anything I wanted with my day.
Five: ...I was hungry.

Eleven a.m. saw me at a local bagel shop, settled into a corner seat with my laptop, bagel, and cafe con leche. Several pleasant hours passed there, and I resisted the urge to buy a second bagel; then, I went grocery shopping. An inexpensive roast and a pot of orange mums came home with me. As there were several hours of daylight left (and I was a little videogamed-out), I went running on my much-loved nearby trail.

My goal was to be home by sunset. Six miles later, I arrived just in time. Tired, hungry, happy, I tucked away some leftover beef stroganoff before doing my laundry and painting my nails. A 9:00 meeting pulled me out of the house for another hour or so, but coming back to a soft bed made the trip out almost worth it.

It's rare for me to be in Collegetown and have nothing to do on a weekend. Thus far, my Sundays have taken one of two forms: either I'm at my parents' house, and we work at the soccer fields on Sundays, or I have refereeing to do. I think I've had one free Sunday when A. was visiting, but this was the first honest-to-God, do-what-you-want-with-no-one-else-to-worry-about Sunday I've had in months.

Perfect Sunday? I think so.