Sometimes it's four PM on Friday and you don't have to be at work until two the next day and you look at your boyfriend and say, so should we go to Roanoke tonight? And then you pack your bags and don't tell anyone you're leaving and you slip away for seventeen hours and you've been working so much lately that it almost feels like vacation.
My mom opened a bottle of wine and made pesto. My dad picked out a movie for us to watch together. Rocky looked pitiful and cute with a cone around his head to keep him from licking some new stitches on his little leg. And then our neighbor brought Reese over--a new puppy--for a little meet and greet. The next morning I woke up and wrapped a big scarf around my shoulders as I headed down to the dock to spend some time with the cold morning fog that sits on the lake.
We drink mate in my house.
Seventeen hours isn't enough. But sometimes, it's better than nothing.