I got up at 6 this morning, which is typical. I remember a time in my life when even the idea of getting up at 6 was a charming combination of laughable and loathsome, and now it’s something I do pretty much every day (holidays and weekends included) whether I want to or not (I usually still don’t really want to), which is, I guess, just more proof of how things change. I looked out my window at the small spruce tree in my neighbors’ yard and thought about the man who broke my heart a couple of winters ago, remembered how I would look at that same tree buried up to its neck (if trees had necks, that is) in snow and think about how both of us would make it through the winter, even though I wasn’t sure I quite believed it at the time. We did, though, the both of us. I don’t know how the tree feels about things, but I’m doing pretty well for myself these days. I still passively wonder when I look at the tree whether or not the man who broke my heart a couple of winters ago is okay, if he’s doing pretty well for himself these days, and I just as passively hope so, before moving on to the next thought. And my next thought this morning at 6-ish was that I didn’t really want to be up at 6-ish; there wasn’t any reason to be up, because it’s Sunday and I have no plans. So I went back to bed and slept until 9, which these days feels as decadent as sleeping until noon.
I’m having coffee (black) out of my Thoreau mug, which replaces the Mr. Darcy mug I had for years until it got broken. I have stuff to do today; I have towels in the dryer, pants (trousers) to wear to work this week in the washer. I need to clean off my dresser and my bookshelves, and I need to vacuum my bedroom floor, as it tends to accumulate dog hair around the edges of the furniture and next to the walls. None of that is exciting, but it’s necessary. I sometimes wonder at that too, how I came to a place in life where I don’t have to trick myself into being interested in all of my tasks.
A week ago, I bought a car. It’s orange. Not like pumpkin orange, more like a darker metallic…whatever, it’s orange. I still kind of don’t believe it — that I bought a car, not that it’s orange, because the orange thing is totally believable — even though I’ve been driving it since Monday. This is probably because I can actually afford it, and it’s weird to go around being able to afford a car, because in my life that’s a fairly new experience. Writing the check for the down payment made me feel like barfing, but other than that, I haven’t really experienced any anxiety or buyer’s remorse over it or anything because I needed a car so I bought one and ha ha it’s orange! So there’s that.
I commented that I guess this means I’m a real grown-up now. Because being a grown-up means buying a car? Something.
I’m sorta responsible, I guess. Weird.