I am a special kind of tired this evening.
I was sitting at dinner with the boys, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
I’m TIRED. Like in my bones and soul, I’m exhausted.
I could have crawled into my bed at that moment and probably slept the night.
Instead, I cleaned up the kitchen, watered my flowers, finished the draft post, and am aiming to knock this one out, too.
You would think that I’m looking at this whole writing two posts a day as a job. I’m really not, though.
All day, the only thing I could think of was. . . ah, only X amount of hours until I can be home, in my comfortable clothes, and doing what I love. Instead of sitting at this desk doing math and typing emails.
I did actually sleep last night. So there’s that. I just could have slept more. 7am came much quicker than I would have liked. I still haven’t gone to get my K cups, and rather than have another disgusting cup of pumpkin spice shit I opted to make an actual pot of coffee. . . except someone had turned off the regular coffee pot because I’m not using it regularly anymore, and I had to wait for the bastard to heat up. . .
It doesn’t go well when my morning has small annoyances like this.
I got through it though, and the day was turning out to be gorgeous. I’m pretty sure the only thing that kept my head from exploding today was being able to go outside and see the sky and hear the wind in the trees while I took cigarette breaks and posted things to the So, This is Real Life Facebook page. People were being especially trying today. Those little breaks where I could step away were helpful.
Taking an early lunch and sitting in line at Starbucks, working on my draft post was nice too. I was able to leave my car windows down and feel the warmth from the sun but the coolness of the breeze. . . what a perfect day. Again.
And then it was time to go home, only ten minutes late (which is actually pretty good on the first of the month in my line of work.)
And then I had dinner in the oven, Chicken Parmesan, and fettuccine boiling on the stove, an Angry Orchard opened. I sat at the kitchen table with the laptop, working still on the draft post while dinner cooked. All was quiet in the house except for the sound of boiling water and the ticking of my fingers on the keyboard from me typing. Chase was watching TV in his room, being plagued with another of his migraines. Matt was upstairs. I sighed, happily. This is how I’ve envisioned my life ending up for years. Writing when I have the time, taking care of my boys, making ends meet and having a little extra to do the things I want to do as opposed to only doing the things I have to do. . .
Yup. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I feel it in my bones.
So, for the quote.
“Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, “It will be happier.”” – Alfred Tennyson
Indeed, Alfred? ‘Cause honestly this year has been just a little fucked up, to be honest.
A plague, some fucking weird bugs, riots. . .
A little fucked up.
But. . .
Each year brings hope that the shit you had to go through the year before doesn’t repeat, that you’ve conquered another level and are going to be able to move past it and go on to bigger and better things.
In retrospect, last year was a little calm compared to years past. I’m not complaining, but I needed things to get a little crazy so I wouldn’t get complacent.
Not too crazy. Just a little. Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. I don’t need nor do I want a replay of years past, because that shit about killed me. But to have some out of the norm stuff? Okay. I’ll take it.
I do want the pandemic to hurry up and end though, it’s sad and stressful. I pray for the riots to cease, too. There’s nothing good about that whole situation.
Otherwise. . .
This craziness has brought my writing back, has brought my appreciation for the little things back. . . I didn’t know on January 1st just how wild this year was gonna be, but I had a feeling I was in for some changes, and that they would be good ones.
The avenues to the good changes are just a little . . . bumpy. That’s all.
But what road to good things isn’t?
Chris Cornell is singing a Soundgarden song as I finish this up. Just me, my writing, and my music.
I gotta say, I’m pretty happy with this life of mine. I’m pretty okay with how the year is going. It’s nothing like I planned. The plan keeps changing. It’s pretty clusterfucky. But I keep rolling with it, seeing where this off kilter plan is taking me.
And I just know it’s somewhere good.
So, This is Real Life 