Mental Health Day

I called in sick this morning. I felt like crap.

I sat on the couch all day, writing and watching movies. I like days like that. 🙂 They feel like stolen moments.

JJ found me in my favorite at-home attire, which are gray sweats so old, they retain no form at all. They’re wonderfully comfortable though, and I refuse to throw them out even though they’re always sliding down off my hips at the most inopportune moment, though JJ would disagree with that. 

He took one look at me and Suki on the couch and raised an eyebrow. “Enjoy your day, dear?”

“Very much, sweetie.” I grinned at him. So did Suki. “We lazed around all day and I wrote about two thousand words.”

He threw his briefcase on the table beside the door and slid out of his jacket, hanging it neatly in the hall closet. “Mine was murder. I’ll spare you the details.”

I finished typing the sentence I was in the middle of. “Sorry to hear that.”

“So…dinner? What are you in the mood for?”

“I put a pizza in.” I patted the cushion next to me. “Come sit with me and tell me all about your nasty day.”

“Did you even go out today?”

“Nope. I looked out the window though. Does that count?” I leaned over and kissed him.

“Wish I could do that.”

“What, call in sick? Babe, we’re not robots. Take a day off now and again. It’ll do you good.”

“The guilt would kill me.”

I shook my head at him. “Never feel guilty over enjoying yourself once in a while. In France, they get six weeks of vacation their very first year of work. This country wants us to slave ourselves to death. Not gonna do it. We have one life. ONE LIFE! Don’t give it all to the employer.”

“You’ve been on g+ again.”

“Well, yeah, now and again, but you can’t deny I’m right. We’ve been indoctrinated to spend our lives working to enrich others. The people who piss and moan about it? They’ve figured it out. I’ve figured it out.”

“What kind of pizza?”

“Cheese and mushroom. I even made a salad.”

“Wow. A veritable hive of consideration.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I love you. How much time before it’s ready?”

“In our old oven? About 20 minutes.”

“That’s enough.”

He removed the laptop from my thighs and led me into the bedroom.

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About Fenraven

Fenraven happily lives in south Florida, where it is really hot most of the year. Find him on Twitter, Google +, and Facebook by searching on 'fenraven'.
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