I just woke up, despite the fact that my alarm went off exactly 1.5 hours ago. So far, I’ve spent the bulk of that time pressing “snooze” (in inconvenient ten-minute intervals) before finally turning the blasted thing off.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, the waking moments produced a list of what I wanted to accomplish today: exercising (a last-ditch effort to belatedly prepare for my beach vacation looming two weeks away); tanning (see previous reasoning); cleaning the apartment (so the roommate who is recording in Savannah doesn’t think I live like a heathen while unsupervised); and, finally, and I dare say, most importantly, I’m going to write (because, when it’s all said and done, I don’t want to be referred to as a woman of multiple careers who just happened to write a book… I want to be remembered as an author who wrote several semi-entertaining stories).
All of those tasks combined ended up serving as an internal alarm clock. I believe it’s time to bust out the old pen and notebooks; I’m going to compose something brilliant.
But before I do that, I’d like to take a moment to thank all of those service men and women who don’t get a day off from their “day jobs” and to remember the ones who gave everything for what we have today.
Memorial day isn’t just a workless Monday to be spent barbecuing and lying poolside reading a good book, it’s a day to give thanks for the freedoms we Americans continue to enjoy and remember the people who made it all possible.