When I finish a week of long, long days that zap and fray my nerves, I need to take action to recover. That involves two, possibly conflicting, tasks.
First, I run hard and fast. I run until my legs wear down and my lungs fill with fresh, clean air. I might also pick up a barbell and pump it high above my head, and every which-way, until my arms tremble and scream.
Then I go home, and nest. I scrub things until they gleam. I sweep away dust and rake leaves and create organization in a world of chaos.
Finally, I call Mom and replenish my recipe box with childhood favourites. Ones that fill my sad/scared tummy with deliciousness. Eggs, sugar, butter. I turn on the oven and bake until my home smells sweet. I take a warm, gooey bite, and sit back and sigh.
And then I feel better, and refreshed, and somehow, more balanced. And ready for another week.