Me. Me. Me.

Sometimes, I just want to do for me.  I want to be selfish.  I want to take every minute of a day, maybe a whole week and do nothing but what I want to do.  Nothing but what makes me happy.

I do not want to worry about other people's happiness, their comfort, their needs.  I don't want to run errands, pick up things everyone else needs.  I don't want to make calls that sort out other people's issues.  I don't want to cook meals for other people to eat on dishes that I will need to wash for the next meal that I cook.  I don't want to dig through the never-ending pile of laundry to find that one pair of jeans that someone needs to make their tomorrow better.

I don't want to drive people around, go pick people up.  I am not a taxi and if I am, I'm free.  No tips, either.  I don't want to schedule my life around the schedules of other lives.  I do not want to get a speeding ticket because I'm late for an appointment that isn't my own.

I don't want to keep getting up out my chair when someone needs that something they forgot to mention when I was up the last time.  I don't want to peel my eyes open from a deep sleep and roll myself out of a warm bed to face the cold of a winter morning simply because someone made plans for me without the courtesy of asking if I wanted to do that or be there, in the first place.

I don't want to take myself away from the good book, the hot bath, the warm dinner, the needed nap, the stretch of sore muscles, the fun of internet surfing, the singing of a song playing in my headphones because everyone demands me that very moment.