My biggest present to myself is to run away.

Run away from the unwritten to-do lists that stare at me from every corner of my house.

From the niggling thoughts that I should and I must and I have to. Because it's necessary. Vital. Who else would take care of it?

I run away to a park with a book.

The rustling of leaves and children's shouts of delight lull my anxiety into a fitful slumber, giving me the time to lose myself.

Carefree.

Worriless.

Smiling at the pages where fictional people struggle through their fictional lives for my entertainment.

I waste time.

One more chapter.

One more page.

One more heart palpitation that isn't caused by my brain telling me I messed up again.

When I run away to a park with a book, I run toward a new fictional friend who I don't have to be anyone but myself with.

The best present for me is a book and enough time to read it.

Alone.