It was warm enough that I left the back door half-open all day so Bruiser could go in and out, and the door to the back porch, aka the laundry room, all the way open so the cat could go in and out. I read student work, organized my reading of it, recycled papers and magazines, did massive amounts of laundry, made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Did the dishes.
It was about as wonderful as an ordinary day could be. Not one single exciting thing happened, but I felt so happy--it's possible that I might be reading my students' work with a slightly rosy spin. Is that wrong?