Some days I’m just not sure where the time goes.

Work, battle traffic on the way home, hit the grocery store, pick up a greeting card, then to the cleaners, bank, gas station, home to sign the card, then back to the post office to mail said card. Back home again, tend to the pets, turn the water on in the backyard, toss in a load of laundry, take out some trash, put the dry cleaning away then notice it’s after 8p and dark — therefore no evening walk shall occur. What to do? Begin to rummage for dinner, naturally.

I remembered that my celery needed chopping, so I cut it up and saw that I had hummus in the fridge, too. Score. Perfect late “dinner” — perhaps with a cocktail thrown in for good measure, too. The expiration date on the lid said October 15. I dug in, then stopped. Something tasted…musty, not hummussy.

I read the packaging again and noticed it said to consume within seven days of opening. I can’t recall when I opened it, but it tasted like it had been a multiple of seven. My mistake.

My freezer housed some microwaveable frozen carrots that I settled on, but my celery was still lonely. I gave in to peanut butter.

Then I gave in to a cocktail, elastic waistband pajama bottoms, an old t-shirt and my trusty Uggs. The hair went up, my stress level came down and I melted into the couch while the Property Brothers educated me on a bit of home renovation. I might’ve also given into a handful of white chocolate chips. This, friends, is my version of some good old-fashioned licking of the wounds.

I realize that others’ lives are far more busy than mine. I realize that others have more mouths to feed, longer to-do lists and don’t have time to sink into a couch without still being pulled in multiple directions. I gave in to some quiet, comforting moments tonight, then gave in to a small amount of guilt for feeling so exhausted. Am I? Yes. Do I know the exhaustion that others know on a daily basis? No.

Regardless of our days, our lists, our dwindling energy levels, giving in to time for ourselves — no matter what it takes — is mandatory. It’s mandatory for quieting the mind, for recharging the batteries, for being able to get up and do it all over again the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Tonight I am thankful for the little things that calm the soul, for the days that give us only as much as we can handle and for those people around us who can help with the weight — whatever we need them to do, however we need them to do.

Here’s to all our tomorrows that we’ll make it to, and all of them we’ll make it through.