There really are few things I enjoy more than a slow, sunny Sunday afternoon and the chance to read for hours and finish an entire pot of coffee.
Yesterday I took my Christmas money to Target and bought some new sheets, blankets, and pillows for my bed. Sleeping in this morning felt like another sort of gift. If it wasn’t so nice out I would have been tempted to stay there all day.
I’ve been running all week, working hard and taking the train. Maybe it’s the unusually warm weather but everywhere I go the people are in such good spirits. It’s like the entire city is buzzing with resolutions and new plans, the excitement that comes with starting over.
I’ve got about fifty-billion things I’d like to do this year and so much I should be doing.
But it’s Sunday afternoon and the sun is at that angle that I love–far enough down that everything it touches turns gold–and I can just make out the sparkling tops of the buildings downtown from my window. My muscles are tired and sore from the run I went on this morning, my mind is buzzing from my coffee, my cat is lying on the concrete in the middle of my appartment’s parking area, rolling in the sun like he owns the damn place. And I’m at my window–watching it all in between the pages of my book.
I do love Sundays.