I could have cleaned more tonight. I could have ironed my shirts, straightened the towels, wiped down the nooks and crannies, organized the mounting pile of papers. I could have. But that’s not what I did. It may seem foolish, immature or even impulsive, but tonight, instead of all those could-haves, should-haves and would-haves, I read. I read and read and read until I finished my book. I should have known it would happen. I was there, right there at the tippy-top of the rising action, just moments away from the climax that would bring to me the most hidden of messages contained in its catacombs. So I gave in. I opened to that bookmarked page, reread the last paragraph, then dove in, nose first.
I could have done so much tonight. So many adult things to do. But I didn’t. I will do them tomorrow. Tonight I did exactly what my soul needed.