when I was little I used to fantasize about the perfect saturday. it only required three simple things.
1. change my sheets
2. wash my laundry
3. take a showeron the perfectest of perfect saturdays, I would time it so my pajamas came out of the dryer minutes after I had finished drying my hair and seconds before snuggling in between my crispy clean sheets. then I would achieve that overpoweringly unbearable height of containment. so unbearable that you have to squirm with happiness lest you feel just too perfect.
today was not that day. but there is still something deeply contenting about stepping out of the shower completely clean. light. fresh. new.