That’s what Charlotte did in her last days in the web. That’s what I have been doing the last two days in my tiny house on my red chaise lounge.
I have had a fierce cold. The kind with the croupy kind of barking cough that leaves you sore after a fitful spell. So I gave myself permission to languish. I drank gallons of hot tea, wrapped up in my microwavable lavender throw, with my heaviest afghans-made-by-Grandma draped over my legs. I dressed in my coziest wool socks and sweats. I lit candles. I gave myself a Downton Abbey marathon, watching hours of recorded episodes. I knitted. I cuddled with my little Hattie. I ate hot homemade soup. Outside the cold rain poured down, nearly 3 inches in two days.
I was told I didn’t know how to relax. I am sure I didn’t because I was on guard constantly for fear of saying something that would be taken offense to, and so I spent years, decades really, ever at the ready. Yes, I am sure I didn’t “know” how to relax.
Well, I recovered the knowledge the last two days. I, indeed, can relax. I did. It was heavenly.