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I woke up wondering why I felt slightly enthusiastic. What was happening?  A trip? Pastries? Then I remembered the glory of the extra day off – and the slow, unremarkable, routine 8 hour workday I still had to get through.

It’s not that I hate my job. It’s just that I like doing and imagining so many things more.

Like drinking a leisurely cup of coffee in the morning. Or imagining drinking a leisurely cup of coffee at a Vermont campsite surrounded by pine trees in the damp morning air.

Like staring off into grey skies. Or imagining staring off into grey skies from the porch that looks out over the meadow and duck pond of my home in the country.

Like making a small origami box. Or imagining a small origami box, the paper it’s made from, the love notes it’s filled with and the look of it on my doorstep.

Like baking a blueberry cake. Or imagining the sound of the bucket that clunks against my leg as I walk up the hill past the big elm tree to the blueberry patch.

Hunkered down in my cubicle with 4 more hours to go I close my eyes for just a moment. I see the pale pink petals as they float to the ground.

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