Saturday Mornings Are When Ideas Breathe.

Lately, there is nothing more decadent than a Saturday that breathes.

It should purr with possibility. It should have the audacity of blue-and-white porcelain, the perfume of frankincense curling through rooms, and the soundtrack of Jack Johnson Radio on Pandora (yes, Pandora - how divine to still use it).

I slept like a goddess last night... Nearly two hours of deep sleep where the body stitches itself back into silk. So this morning, I rose like someone with secrets. By 10am, the tedious tasks were vanquished. Floors cleaned. Lists conquered. And suddenly, creativity had an open chair at my table. 

So I invite it in. I pour it coffee, and let it speak. We talk like friends in a cafe, lingering over thoughts between sips. 

For once, there are no deadlines breathing down my neck. No demands pulling at my sleeve... Because I have disconnected and compartmentalized the week from this sacred weekend space. 

And in the stillness, a vow slips out: One day, I will have a life with four-day workweeks and the same glorious pay and benefits. Because an extra day of recovery and imagination isn't a luxury. It's oxygen...

For me to breathe.