cake without the sprinkles

I've been on sabbatical for 6 months now, and I still have no idea how to actually relax. Morning to night is a list of chores crossed off with a clenched fist. I never have enough time to enjoy myself, even though all I have is time. Make it make sense.

My mom is like, you're on an adventure, enjoy it!

My dad is like, save your money! Write write write!

I appreciate both. I feel pressured by both.

Today I stopped at my favorite french bakery and got a ham and butter sandwich on a narrow, crispy baguette with a coffee macaroon and some pull-apart bread. I ate it under a shady tree with the breeze in my hair by a cobblestone street where little old ladies walked fancy dogs and gay men chatted on first dates.

I felt carefree.

I earned it I thought. I went to the gym, I put air in my tires. And next I'll go home and figure out where I'm going to live.

Yes, next I'll read my assigned books and I'll make my assigned dinner, and do my assigned hot girl walk, and I'll write my assigned writing and so it's okay that I'm having fun now because I'm dutiful and resigned the rest of the day.

And because I liked this lunch so much, I'll make that an assignment, too. I can check it 'done' next Tuesday at 11:30 am because that's when the sandwiches come out.

And at 11:40am, I can ask myself, are you enjoying this the requisite amount?

No pressure.