Sunday was the perfect day. If every day could be like Sunday, I think I could be a happier person. I got to sleep in and eat breakfast in the sun that was streaming through the windows. While Brad continued to sleep, I laced up my shoes, grabbed my camera and went for a walk. It was gorgeous. I kept walking and walking, and I never wanted to go home. I walked for an hour and a a half, through our neighborhood and around the park. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the temperature was warm, the birds were chirping, and I was thrilled to be part of it.

After my walk, Brad and I gathered up our new cheap-o Walmart tennis gear and lobbed the ball around for awhile at the local courts. Actually, it was balls, lots of balls that we had almost no control over. We had to have the people two courts down return a few to us, and we even picked one up off the road on our way out (that one was Brad’s power serve.) So we’re amateurs, who cares, it was fun. And healthy!

After tennis, Brad went to play some basketball. I considered joining him, but my under-exercised body had had enough for one day. Instead I read for an hour on the couch, right where the spring breeze was blowing in through the open windows and the warm sun was shining through.

But at about 10pm, I started slipping into a funk. It had been such a perfect day, the kind of day that I dream about all year, and now it was over. And not only was it over, but the next day I had to return to work. To my windowless office that people tell me is so dark! and how do you stand working back here? The very thought of that caused me to go from elated, happy, smiling, light and free to glum, sad, weighed down and defeated. It definitely wasn’t the best way to end a perfect day.

I guess I just hope I can enjoy as many days like Sunday as possible to make up for the rest of it. Life…