Where did the day go? It’s book fair week at work, so kids have been coming in and out buying posters, gummy bear-topped mechanical pencils, spy pens, everything but books. Money is tucked away in the safe. A short drive home feels endless. Pups greet me and so does a Taco Tuesday dinner in progress.

Before I have time to talk my way out of it, I change into workout gear and head off the Y for Body Pump. I’ve been going for years, three times a week, but once the pandemic changed all of the schedules, it has been hard sticking to that schedule. How did I ever go consistently three times a week? And the kids were younger? I vow to get back on track. Officially, the pandemic was years ago, but it sometimes still feels like last week.

On the way back home, police lights flash ahead on the freeway. Why did I even get on? Should’ve noticed traffic slowing down. Rush hour should’ve tapered off by now. My exit is up ahead. That’s where the lights are flashing. Can’t do anything but wait. Inching closer, I get into the exit lane. Everyone is moving to the left except for a few people exiting. An officer clears flat styrofoam boards from the highway, chunks flying behind cars that got ahead of it. I exit, grateful no one was hurt in a wreck.

I eat reheated tacos alone. The amped up outdoor leaf blower buzzes annoyingly. On and on with the occasional dog bark. It’s an oversized hairdryer of sorts, styling the backyard, freeing it of leaves and oak pollen that became embedded between blades of grass. When will it stop? I put away leftovers, toss dog toys in between for some play time, and get the dishes clean.

How will I relax this evening? Lights are on in the backyard. Everyone, including the dogs have been fed. Game night? A bit of journaling? Slice! I need to slice. Maybe I should take the day off? I just finished a 31 day writing streak.

Don’t do it! That’s how good habits die. It starts with one day and snowballs from there.

My laptop is open and I look through thirty three draft titles. As I mull around ideas, Dreams, by The Cranberries plays from the bedroom. Getting up, I retrieve my phone before my husband groans in complaint.

I haven’t even had time to relax! Or write.

An alarm is set on my phone for 8:30 p.m. I named it STOP ALL OF THE THINGS! It’s time to wind down. Get into pjs. In my current gym sweat state, it’s a shower first. Take out my contacts. Wash off makeup. Get the dogs outside one more time. Put them away. Make sure teen is ready for tomorrow morning…and I haven’t sliced yet.

It’s easier to skip it, but I don’t want a good habit to die. It counts as winding down.