On: a productive Sunday

Today was, most likely, the most productive single day I've had in months.  I managed to wake up around 11:30am -- impressing myself both by waking up to the single alarm I had set for that time, and because I had been up til nearly 4am after a wonderful late night out for salsa and bachata.  Thus, in the still-early afternoon, I ventured out to the nearest mall containing a JC Penney and had a surprisingly successful bra shopping experience.  Upon getting back home, I cooked and ate dinner, then started in on laundry, including long-overdue bed sheets.  While the sheets were in the dryer and a load of clothes in the washer, I went out and got my grocery shopping done, which was also overdue.  After once again returning home, I retrieved and folded up the bed sheets and moved the other load to the dryer, then later retrieved that one as well.

I have long internally chastised myself to a degree for the many weekend days during which I accomplish little if anything of use.  Not that I believe every weekend should be as packed with chores and errands as today turned out to be, but I have often found myself thinking I would feel more satisfied if I had gotten something done during the day.  And then if I had, I would consequently feel that I had better "earned" some sort of lazy or fun activity that evening.

So at the end of this day, I pulled some ice cream out of the freezer and watched half of a favorite romantic comedy on Netflix.  This was delicious and enjoyable (respectively) for sure, yet... I realized I didn't feel as contentedly satisfied as I had hoped.  Yes, I am definitely proud of myself for all the necessary things I crossed off the to-do list today.  I certainly think I earned movie time tonight, too.  But, sadly, I still feel an emptiness from my day.  I realized that over the whole day, I had only spoken a few words to the cashier at the mall and a fellow shopper at Safeway.  And as busy as I was, a bit of loneliness still crept up on me.

I'm not sure if it's a flaw -- to not be able to spend a day doing things on my own without feeling at least a little lonely.  I know I can mostly hide it from myself with some distraction or other (most likely the boundless lands of Facebook, and Netflix, and catching up on email...).  But I can feel myself quietly longing for companionship; for the mood lift that comes from interacting with a good friend; for the comfort, care, and peace that (I imagine and so hope) comes from having someone to come home to at night.