Sunday recovery

I think of Sunday as the day of recovery. I do my best not to make specific plans on Sundays so as to be free to do whatever I a) have the energy for; b) needs to be done; and/or c) strikes my fancy. Such things might include anything from the obvious (reading the paper, doing laundry, grocery shopping, vacuuming) to the ambitious (creative projects, exercising, mopping the kitchen floor) to actual recovery from activities the night before (nursing hangovers, recapping with friends, napping, eating lots of chips, writing in my journal).

What am I doing today? A little of each. Currently, for instance, I'm dying my roots while catching up on my blog. I have written in my journal, talked to friends, eaten a fair amount of chips, read the paper and went to Walgreen's for shampoo, t.p. and Propel water (my favorite new recovery beverage).

See, last night's activities require some recovery. I'm not hung over (though I did smoke too much, for which a price must be paid). I'm a little groggy, considering I didn't get home until 3am. That I can handle. It's the disappointment that has me struggling. I had hoped last night would go differently, and I'm bummed. I thought the guy (it's about a guy, as if that wasn't obvious) was going to stay sober and he didn't. He said he quit drinking, and I believed him. He got drunk—so drunk he didn't realize how drunk he was, so tried to deny it. Hence, the fun, light, romantic, sexually-charged romp I was looking forward to didn't happen. The mood was killed. He blew it!

I'm sure it's just as well, and I'm better off, and all that. My heart's not broken or anything. Still, I need a day of recovery ... so thank goodness for Sunday.