I have bought with me some fingerless gloves. They are red and black striped fingerless gloves, keeping my arms warm. They're a bit witchy, but that works for me.
Ben has given me a beer. Ben is a good man. Ben and I have bonded over Darwin - Ben having survived Cyclone Tracey as a child, I can only wonder.
There are two cats on the retreat. Oreo, the little tuxedo fella, has already been picked up and kissed, as my darling Lucifer sits on Blarney's spare bed a hundred and fifty kilometres away. I haven't met Bailey yet, but he's a new kitten, a little tabby, and I'm sure I will pick him up and kiss him when I get the chance. As these are cats and this is what I do with them.
This will be my downtime.
I need it.
It's been a big week. It's going to be bloody full on over the next six weeks at work.
I need this down time.
And it is very nice when somebody puts a beer in your hand, gives you a cuddle and lets you do what you need to do.
We were asked what we wanted to get out of this retreat as a writing prompt.
Well, I want to find a bit of peace.
Not that I will, but part of me wants to sit in my oversized hoodie on the balcony and knit all weekend and not talk to anybody. That is not going to happen. I'm with 30 other middle-aged women with opinions and ADHD and job stress and red wine and food on tap (oh my giddy aunt, THE LAMB!)
And as I have little interest in food at the moment, thanks to the meds - meth will do that to you, I have to remind myself to eat.
Then again, this is my weekend to be me.
And I will remember to eat.
And I will be mildly sociable.
And I will drink Ben's beer in moderation.
And I will enjoy having some down time, because I bloody deserve it.
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