I like to think of my evenings as post-hunt celebrations.
They allow me to express gratitude for the day and keep me going the next one.
If I don't hunt, I don't have the right to celebrate. The day was wasted and the Muses take great offense of my foolishness.
If I celebrate anyway, it just doesn't feel right. I am not at ease. I can perceive a faint anxiety growing inside me. Dinner doesn't taste great and the ale is bland.
Happiness is earned. There is no greater feeling than spending the entirety of the day honing your craft, to finally come home exhausted and share the fruits of my labor.
I earned the day, I earned my place on earth.
When I'm walking back home through the empty streets, nothing matters. I'm one with the world, and for a brief moment I am transported to some distant lands where the pastures are forever green and the forests full of life. I'm smiling like a fool.
A day that's not worth celebrating isn't well spent. To live for the weekend is a waste I can't afford, for we can only exist today.