The 4pm headache

It was 4pm and I did not have a headache. And it was because I had finally realised that it was not a good idea to always have a headache by 4pm that this particular 4pm I was walking over the most glorious open moorland, with Max struggling to keep his excited bounding to my heel (but perhaps my knee would do, or my advancing foot, or perhaps it was OK to be a dog’s length ahead. Oh, no, OK back to heel again!) and Bridget was bounding along tail up and nose swivelling to investigate various small things which were easily intimidated, and tracks left by larger things, which might not have been.

I took Saturday and most of Sunday off (I had to go and retrieve the railway sleepers for the bottom of my second hand greenhouse, which is not a restful activity). Not ‘off’ in my usual sense. Not ‘doing things which need to be done with one eye on the clock, but picking nicer things than usual to pack hurriedly into a day’ but off as in ‘not doing anything that I had any disinclination to do, and feeling totally free to do nothing useful at all.’

I’ve not done much of that this summer – just the odd day with friends or family. It used to be a regular thing, and when it ceased to be, it was often replaced by writing, which is something so nice that I did not miss real leisure so much. And now writing has stopped, I think I will need to schedule some Sabbath back into my life, so that some days, anyhow, do not have a headache by 4pm.


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