Some beach. . .somewhere

I’m taking a mental health day today. I hadn’t planned on it, but after I got to the clinic I just didn’t really feel up to being there. So Ruth told me to go home.

I protested, and told her that I was sure she couldn’t get by without me and that I felt bad because I just had a day off yesterday and was given some partial days off previously for random reasons, and asked her what I was going to do next year when I had a real job that I couldn’t just take off when I felt like it.

She said, yeah, but next year I’ll be able to make my own decisions, won’t live in a tiny apartment with roommates I didn’t choose, will get to have fun, will be able to choose how I get fed spritually, will be able to take *actual* time off, will live in a situation where not EVERYTHING is work (aka I’ll work 8 to 5 instead of all freakin’ day), etc. And she’s right, of course. And I appreciate her generosity and not having to be at the clinic.