I have this habit. When I'm at work and I look at my calendar to see that I don't have plans for the evening, I get really excited. A night to myself! What could be better? I'm going to do this and that and that and this when I get home. Pure fun good times puttering around my house.
By the end of the day, something happens and I start making plans. Or, someone makes plans with me and I accept.
Then my inner homebody cries, But what about the this and that and that and this we were going to do alone at home tonight?
Tonight I asked a coworker if she wanted to zip to a local restaurant together tonight after work. She couldn't make it. Then I got half way through a text to another friend inviting her out for dinner. Luckily I came to my senses before I sent the text. What is my deal? I had already made plans with myself. I was booked.
Why is it when we make plans with ourselves we are so open to breaking those plans? In fact, they don't seem like plans at all. They seem like we've got nothing to do. Except I did have something to do.
The this and that and that and this?
So I came home and spent a delightful evening at home doing exactly what I wanted to do. And just as well. My neck and back ache from last week's whiplash is still tender and the pain pills make me tired.
I'd have been miserable to be anywhere but home tonight.