This was actually supposed to be posted on Saturday around noon, but for whatever reason my blog was not allowing me to post until today (Sunday).
I took M’s car over to the smog shop today to get it smogged and ready for title change. For whatever reason, I tend to be the one taking all our vehicles in for repairs, oil changes, smog checks. M and I have both been operating on a sleep deficit this week, but I at least had opportunity to catch up by sleeping until 6 this morning. M still gets up at 2:45 a.m. to be out the door for his run at 3:30 a.m. to bypass the heat.
We have nothing planned today, other than choring. There is a week of laundry washed, dried, left in laundry baskets, because I have been insanely busy with work-work all week. I am meeting one of private clients at 1 p.m., but in the meantime, I’m eating lunch and writing this post, and will be getting started on the folding of said laundry. Because while M is fine with the washing and the drying of our clothes throughout the week, he is happy and content to take clean clothes directly from the laundry basket sitting in the middle of our family room. I am the one bothered by that practice, so I am the one who folds the clothes. He will put them away once folded, but there is a definite disconnect between getting clean clothes out of the dryer and the folding clothes process.
Enroute home from the smog shop (Highlander passed, no problems), I stopped at CVS for bandaids. I don’t know how or why this happens this way, but we go through periods where one or both of us has bleeding, bandaid-worthy wounds and are out of bandaids. This time, since M scraped his elbow on something yesterday and told me we were down to the last one of the large size, waterproof bandaids, I chose to be proactive and buy another box before the next bandaid-worthy injury occurs. This it the closest I come to being superstitious; if we are out of bandaids, one of us will be bleeding and needing it immediately. If we are well supplied, we are probably safe.
The clerk there always seems to be there when I stop in for something, and we had our usual pleasant interchange while I was paying for my purchases. He said to me, you’re always smiling and so cheerful; I wish all my customers were so pleasant. It was a nice compliment, and I smiled and told him that it’s because I have taken up regular exercise, that it boosts my mood and emotional frame of reference as much as it impacted my physical presence. And I wished him a very nice day as I was leaving.
His comment got me thinking. While I cannot imagine a universe where I’m in a crappy mood and wishing someone to have a horrible, awful, no-good kind of day, I can see wishing someone a good day and have it sound hollow and insincere. Because I know I have done it, mostly out of habit. Not so much anymore. There are these really nice kids at my gym’s front desk most days, and I am genuinely smiling as I am leaving and will wish them a great day in a cheerful, upbeat-sounding tone. And I truly mean it. I am mostly happy walking in (depends a lot on my awareness status at 5 a.m.) and I am definitely really feeling good and happy inside walking out.
So while this particular Saturday is nothing special with uplifting or super fun events scheduled, we are still having a great day. M will be putting forth his best OCD on cleaning his vehicle, and I will be folding laundry, working with a client I enjoy, and then finishing the laundry, cleaning house, and hopefully getting to wash and clean the interior of my car. We are eating out tonight, doing our grocery shopping for the week, and essentially just being ordinary people attending to typical, unexciting weekend chores.
And it is a great day.