I wake up in the morning, already looking forward to the time I can sleep again. That’s how the day usually starts for me. I wake and start my chores right away, keep an eye on the clock, make breakfast, then lunch and then dinner. And the time in between of these preparations, I get with my other chores of laundry, dishes, dusting, mopping and so many other things I don’t bother to mention.

As I work on these, I long for undisturbed long sleeps, for the meal that is not cooked by me, for late mornings, mundane things like just lying around doing nothing. If put in a word, I long for a vacation.

And what do I do when I get to go on a vacation. A vacation, which I have all planned for so many ages, I get it and what do I do.

I wake up to watch the sun rise. I click its beauty, write about it and I go for a walk. I make myself a huge spread of breakfast, no ordering in, cooking myself. I spend my day reading or writing or drawing, nothing in particular. I spend my time talking to long lost friends, cooking the dishes, I have never even tried cooking. I bake, I take long baths, I pamper myself to no length. I dress up, I put on my dress and jwelery and I pose for myself in front of the mirror.

I eat in the fanciest crockery of the place, I decorate my little place, I eat under the moon and in the light of the candles and when it all ends I return to my life.

The next day after vacation: I wake up start my chores and long for a full day sleep.

P. S: Not me, not anyone I know. It’s a story of an artist who is yet to get out of her house.

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