meg day 2005
So, I am nearly to the end of this unexpected day off. It's bittersweet, really; I am happy to go back to work, but a little less happy to pry my eyes open again at 5:45 am.
Still, it's been a good collection of hours and minutes. We had an atypically sunny day here on the Wet Coast. There are few things as satisfying as coming across a nice day when you're playing sanctioned hooky.
So what did I do with my abundance of time?
Here's the rundown:
6:00 am: Meg wakes, suddenly and startlingly, and nearly tosses herself headlong out of bed until she remembers -- just in the nick of time -- that today is her day off. Woohoo! She curls back under the pale blue duvet and puts the whole getting up thing off until...
9:30 am: Meg stretches like the proverbial cat and forces herself to climb out of bed. A look out the window reveals the brightest blue sky she's seen all winter, which warms the cockles of her heart. After some puttering, she dashes into the shower and spends far too long steaming her cares away with apple cider-scented shower gel. Meg bonks her head when she scrambles to avoid a spider looking to get in on the action. Mr. Spider goes down the drain.
11:30 am: Meg finds herself at the Quay -- the marina market-type thing down the hill from home -- ordering totally unnecessary fish and chips from a guy she knows has been selling them there for years and years. But she wants the fish and chips in all their caloric and batter-ish goodness. And she can see the ocean from here. And it's a beautiful day. An old man leaning on the counter compliments her on her choice of fish and on her hair (thank you!), then wanders away.
"That is the kindest man I've ever met," says the fish and chip guy.
"Oh yeah?" says Meg. She likes kind people.
"Let me tell you a story. When I first started out doing this, I was making hardly anything -- just trying to get this business off the ground, y'know?"
Sure. Meg knows.
"My wife wanted to go back home to Toronto for the holidays and we couldn't afford it. I mentioned it to him one day when he came to get his coffee -- he comes every morning, like clockwork -- just happened to complain about it, like people do. He comes back a few hours later, puts $500 bucks on the counter, and says, 'Send her home.' So I did, and I tell you -- he's family now." Meg grins like mad.
Meg likes random givers.
Fish and chip guy goes to check on the Snapper. When he comes back, there is more to the story.
"Yeah, he's amazing. Do you know..." (and Meg thinks, no, of course I don't, but I'd like to) "... he was married for 27 days in the 60's. Only 27 days! And he still supports his wife -- sends her money every month."
Wow, Meg thinks. Is he looking for another wife?
"And he lives on Veteran's assistance! Fixed pension! He's got nothing. But I tell you -- he won't starve if I have anything to do with it. Every time he gives all his money away to someone who needs it more than he thinks he does, we make sure he gets fed here. And we invite him to Christmas and all that."
By this point, Meg is kind of teary. And still smiling. So she says, "Well, thank you for doing that. I love that you do that."
Fish and chip guy beams.
"Hey, you want tartar sauce and a lemon wedge?"
"Two wedges, please."
"Anything for the lady."
12:30 pm: Meg sits and sips a cup of coffee while watching the harbour and listening to Dave Brubeck on the iPod. This is good.
1:30 pm: Meg finds herself in a cushy robe, sitting in a darkened lounge with The Sounds of Nature (tm) playing all around her, frogs croaking in time with the flickering of scented candles. Meg is at Spa Utopia. She is sipping herbal tea. Lemon, actually. It's pretty good.
Meg is, however, feeling a bit... vulnerable. She does not sit around in a bathrobe on a couch next to some guy reading the Financial Times very often (also in a robe). But she is wearing Sensi-Sandals.
And that makes everything okay.
2:00 pm: Meg meets Gord. Gord is a Registered Massage Therapist. Gord looks like someone's grandpa. Meg feels at ease -- mostly. Meg feels a bit odd about being tastefully revealing around someone's grandpa.
2:01 pm: Meg gets over it. Grandpa has some excellent hands.
2:02 pm: Meg considers proposing to Grandpa.
2:03 pm: Meg shelves the wedding plans in favour of drooling and zoning out.
2:04 pm: Meg manages to stop the drooling and disappears into an alternate universe hereafter to be referred to as MassageWorld. MassageWorld involves an odd combination of rapid-fire clarity and total blankness. This is better than CoffeeWorld, which Meg never thought was possible.
2:30 pm: Meg lies, warm towel on her face, wondering why, in 31 years, she has not done this before. Meg feels very old and yet reborn. Meg will tip well. This is certain.
2:45 pm: It. Is. Over. And Meg wonders how she can make this happen again. Like, right then. But it does not. But Meg still has the Sensi-Sandals and the lovely walk back to the change room. There, she uses the complimentary products to wash the aromatherapy oils out of her hairline and giggles to herself.
(other stuff happens -- edited for brevity)
4:30 pm: Meg takes the Seabus home as twilight begins and thinks that this will probably be remembered as her big nurturing moment for 2005. And as John Denver and the Muppets sing carols in her ear, she figures that's okay. Meg still remains open to Spa Utopia gift certificates, but apparently, all of those go to her teacher roommate who receves them from her kids. Ah well.
5:30 pm: Meg attacks her apartment bathroom with Tilex, filled with a desire to create a clean and orderly universe. She is attacked by an earwig. Why are there so many insects in her bathroom? The earwig is confronted with several squirts of Tilex. Meg wins. She sings "We Are The Champions" and scrubs her grout.
6:30 pm: Meg ventures out to get fixings for her dinner, walking quickly to "Footloose" on the iPod, and settles on chicken-garlic tortelloni in a red pepper cream sauce. And... uh... some Ben and Jerry's. Meg feels some guilt about this. Who needs such an indulgence? But apparently, this is the kind of day Meg is having.
7:30 pm: The tortelloni is good, especially with fresh asiago.
8:00 pm: For no reason at all, and without provocation, Meg watches The O.C.
9:00 pm: Meg feels impossibly dirty because she cried while watching The O.C. Sure, she could invoke the 'Holiday Special' clause (no pun intended) to justify her behaviour, but she knows it wasn't really like that. She simply cannot excuse her own pop culture indulgence on this one. She sighs and opens the ice cream. She realizes she has purchased the wrong flavour. She does not hold this against said ice cream, because she is never one to leave anyone (or anycream) out.
10:00 pm: Meg crawls into bed after opening the tiny cardboard doors on the advent calendar Kristy bought her before she went away. Meg blogs and does assorted other webchores, including checking on her Fantasy Sports Pools and peeking in at other blogs. Meg notices that her neck is oddly sore again, but realizes soon enough that this is the fault of her pillow, which is quickly cast aside in order to prevent the undoing of all the massage-y goodness.
11:00 pm: Meg actually nods off for ten minutes, iBook in lap. Do you know how revolutionary that is?
Okay, okay. I think that's plenty of detail. If you got this far.
I am going to take all this abundance and amazingness and aplenty-ness and hie me off to bed. Because I gotta get up soon.
Night, loved ones.
12:02:00 AM 
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