Week of
The typo only you have seen
Proudly, on Monday, your sister shows you her wedding invitations, all one hundred and twenty of them, and you spot “reciption” in the third line before you have finished saying how lovely they are. She has not noticed. On Tuesday morning the Moon moves into your sign, which will not help you to unsee it. Tell her on Wednesday, once, kindly, with the printer’s number in your hand. Whatever she decides by Friday, you have done your part. Let Saturday contain no proofreading whatsoever.
Love
She may laugh, or cry, or decide that a hundred and twenty guests can spell it for themselves. All three are allowed, and it is her wedding. If she chooses to post them as they are, you have one job left, which is to say they look beautiful on Friday and mean it. Your partner can hear the rest, briefly, in the car.
Work and money
You have a document that is finished in every way that matters, and a fourth read-through planned for Thursday. Cancel it. Send the thing on Wednesday afternoon with the one caveat your manager needs and no others. If a comma turns out to be wrong, the building will still stand, and you will have Thursday back for the work no one else has spotted.
Body and mind
Small print and screens can tire your eyes by midweek. Look out of a window every hour, at something at least as far away as the next roof. Try swapping the last hour on your phone for an audiobook in the dark. On Sunday, cook something with no recipe at all, and find out how good an approximate stew can be.
Wednesday, for telling your sister about “reciption”, once, and kindly