Sunday morning

I want to bottle this feeling. It’s Sunday morning, and the light comes through the shade in that slow, diffused way. My eyes are still heavy from how deeply I slept. My legs and shoulders ache from yesterday’s long run. I stretch my legs and arms, feeling the softness of the blanket around me. I didn’t drink last night, so sleep came easy and stayed.

I check the time — it’s 8 am. There’s no rush, no roommate getting up, no pressure on myself to do the same. The whole day is mine. I can sink into the book that’s been putting me to sleep each night… and actually stay awake for it this time. Or crack open Hailee’s recipes, a dish I’ve never done before. Steaks with anchovies. Or maybe something delicious from somewhere nearby I’ve never tried. I haven’t decided yet, and that’s the whole point.

But I’m already losing it. I can feel it seeping out of me. Suddenly alert — do I prep for my network call later this week, do my taxes, play with the new AI tool that’s got every designer in a frenzy? It doesn’t need to happen at 9am on a Sunday. I push it away.

Then I reach for my phone anyway. Instagram, TikTok, the usual. The peace from ten minutes ago is gone. I see a pair of brown shiny carpenter pants I should buy because it’ll level up my wardrobe. I evaluate, I consider. I swipe it away. I remember a coworker mentioning an app called Opal — you pay 27 cents a day to keep yourself off social media. Absurd. I find the Downtime setting buried in my iPhone instead. Free, for now.

Now I’m writing this from my bed, checking off my writing practice the same way I was trying not to check off everything else. I can’t help it. The morning has already shifted into something else — but maybe that’s fine. It was never going to stay.