I've never particularly liked the idea of perfection. Such absolutes create an invisible pressure that can both haunt and corrupt the enjoyment of things. In fact, when something feels exceptionally awesome I breathe it in and try to suck every part of it out until I'm (hopefully by then), just completely part of the experience; something I usually find hard to achieve.
So to say that Sunday is always a perfect day is a little foolish for me. But there were some things that made it exceptionally so today, besides getting home at 4am*..
..muscles that are ridiculously sore from three impromptu massages..two on the dancefloor, one over dinner. Don't ask. Felt so good at the time, yet so painful now.
..savouring the memory that suddenly sprang up of how it feels to be in the departures lounge at the airport. I think my gypsying nomad blood is getting even more restless.
..planning celebrations with my sweet family, friends, and dear man.
..also planning on making shirts with Hemingway quotes from Midnight in Paris. Hemingway..
..still having two out of my six figs left. Oh yesss.
..French lavender as an early birthday gift. It reminds me of my Grandma Florence.
..a sunrise and sunset walk home today.
I hope all is magical in your realm.
*it was a splendidly big, massage, dance, and pizza-filled evening..
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