Sunday, Sunday.

I can't believe the weekend is almost over. I'm sitting on the couch, pouting over my writer's block and lamenting the beginning of another work week. We had a fun, albeit too short, weekend. I took Mike to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston for his first time ever. The new contemporary art wing is really fun, and I actually saw the first bit of performance art that I actually enjoyed. The artist watched New York lawyers during litigation and from that, choreographed a dance for them, which she filmed in the lobby of a law firm in New York. Usually with performance art, I feel like it's so out of my reach as far as understanding and relating, but this one made sense and felt universal, like a reminder of how even the stressful or mundane aspects of my life can become a sort of ritual, routine.

We've also got Hulu+ on Mike's Xbox, which has proven to be very, very dangerous. I have to allot times of the day that I'm allowed to watch TV or I'll just keep watching episode after episode of New Girl, Smash, and Grimm. Also, the pilot of Awake blew my mind.

We're taking tonight slow with dinner at home and, let's be honest, more episodes of Grimm. (I'm not allowed to watch TV until after dinner, though.)

When you love somebody it's hard to think about anything but to breathe.

Another lazy weekend day. Scratch that. Another productive weekend day. I'm listening to this song while chicken soup simmers on the stove, oatmeal raisin cookies bake, and this bread rises on my kitchen table. I've started making a dress out of fabric I bought last weekend. I feel like it's been the perfect combination of time out with friends and time at home getting refreshed for the week ahead.

What a Sunday should look like.

Mike left at 7 o'clock this morning to go to the Giants game with his dad. I was sad to see him go, but excited for an entire day of absolutely no obligations. There aren't many freedoms such as that. I got my hair cut, read at 1369 with coffee and a chocolate croissant, made myself a big lunch, baked pumpkin spiced whoopee pies, watched The Office and retaught myself to knit. Tonight I'm writing, reading, enjoying a homemade pumpkin spice whoopee pie and a white russian while Ray LaMontagne serenades me. Poor Mike is stuck in traffic, and I'm secretly enjoying my prolonged hours of SSMT (sustained silent Mel time). Twenty-five keeps getting better by the day.