I woke up this morning with a feeling of…quiet panic. I opened my eyes when Tenzing jumped onto the bed, hinting in his oh-so-subtle way that "breakfast would be nice soon, Mom," and thought, "agh! I have to get up, get started, do…"

What?

My brain, still numbed and sluggish from sleep, ran through the possibilities that, given recent events, were likely to be true.

The phone was ringing. It wasn't.
Code work—I only have a few days before… Oh. Wait. I've already moved Quarto live. That rush is over.
Get over to the Hyatt, because it's time to get to… Convention's over.

My brain, faced with an appalling lack of problems requiring immediate solutions, came to a complete stop.

Oh. It's Saturday, I mumbled into the pillow. After a leisurely stretch, I settled back in under the down comforter, and felt the calmness seep, liquid, into my bones. Tenzing rode my stretching motions and stayed balanced on my hip, gently head-butting my hand to keep me from drifting off to sleep again.

I idly scratched between his ears, generating a rattly purr and a blissful look of contentment.

I already knew I felt better, in the same way that, when I opened my eyes, I knew that I had two blue, half-blind eyes and an enormous shock of hair. Today would be the day that, after nearly a week of feeling run-down and feverish, I would be capable of getting on with my life.

But what needed doing, now that I was ready to do it?

Oh, yes. Housecleaning. True, we have guests coming, but they won't be here until Tuesday, and they're not the type to panic if the house isn't spotless. There's probably some tennis on, given that it's the final weekend of the US Open. I have knitting to do.

But nobody needed me right now—except for a couple of demanding orange-and-white cats who were plainly convinced that their breakfast was overdue by an hour or two.

Perhaps I'll take Jeff to a movie today. Perhaps we'll work on our power naps. I'll eventually clean the litterbox and the kitchen. But, for today, no rush. I've done enough of that lately.