What would I do today if I were at a spa?
That is the question i asked myself one soggy spring day before i moved to sunny California. That week had been kinda rough, what with adulting being so hard and all. For some reason people just really bugged me that week and i found myself annoyed, knee deep in a muddy garden, daydreaming about what would it feel like to hit certain people in the head with the shovel i was currently trying to use to plant garlic. In the mud. Or perhaps i could go on a mountain and live in a hut and weave my own wool from my pet llama. All i would have to do is:
- Learn how to weave wool
2. And care for a llama.
3 And live in a hut. With no essential services like heating. And internet shopping.
Maybe i could skip the wool and llama and just go to a spa.
On a tropical island. Preferably one where the only other person on the island was a bartender. With a full bar.
i wasn’t quite sure, but all i knew was i had to get away and suddenly a very expensive “gift to myself” that i really couldn’t afford but certainly had EARNED sounded just about right.
But before i packed up my garden tools and drove off screaming, looking for the first four star hotel that will give me 800 Egyptian count linen and room service, i put away the shovel and thought about it for a minute. What if i stayed home, saved the 5 hundred bucks i would spend on the fancy hotel with room service, and the possible jail sentence resulting from said shovel, and tried to have spa weekend at home?
So every action that weekend was prefaced by the question, “Would i do this if i were at a spa?”
Sleeping in, latte, brunch, lovely visit with mom? Yes.
Laundry, clean out birdbath, hit people in the head with shovel? No.
It was a great weekend.