This day has not been a productive one. The first day back in work after a week off, it's been a day of alien alarm calls, a day of cranking the part of my brain that deals with work back into action, a day of winding up what last week had wound down.
Now, however, it's half nine. The commute has been done, twice. Dinner has been made and eaten, dishes washed and put away. Tomorrow's lunch is settling down for the night on the second shelf of the fridge. Flowers have been watered, dry laundry taken in.
Though not enough has been done, my to-do list and I have agreed an overnight ceasefire.
Now I am sitting in my wooden rocking chair on my balcony. The chair needs a proper cushion, but that's a job for another day.
I am eating an ice-cream, a treat even as the evening temperatures drop.
I am looking at my summer flowers, which are clinging on to life and brightening up my 'garden' even at this late stage.
Sean has swapped watching football for playing it tonight, so my soundtrack is Lyric FM rather than Sky Sports. I don't know the piece of music that's playing, but it's the perfect accompaniment to closed eyes, passing cars and alarms distant enough not to be annoying.
I am breathing deeply, revelling in the fact that even unsatisfactory days can include perfect little interludes like this.
