All the signs are there.
I walked home from work last night, and by the time I got home, I’d grown stiff and weary. (Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that I work nearly eight miles from home, but that isn’t really the point. Young people can walk seven or eight miles without difficulty. I’m sure I’ve done it, back in my twenties.)
I woke this morning, puttered over to the sink, washed my dishes, brewed a pot of coffee, had my yogurtberriesflax, and skimmed the digital NYT, focusing entirely on education and real estate. (Waaaait. I think that last just makes me a recovering New Yorker.) It’s quiet. I’m alone. And I like it. The morning could only be more perfect had I a teak, drop-leaf, round dining table and someone whose name rhymes with Berry Gutler snoring in my bed. I don’t have Big Plans for the weekend, nor do I want any. I’m good.
I read secondhand Grantas on the bus on the way to work in the morning, or listen to New Order and Sade on my iPoodle. (Okay, and sometimes QOTSA, but that detracts from the old mood I’m trying to build).
Maybe I’m not old, yet. Maybe I’m just comfortably complacent.
Or maybe it’s just comfortable…in the true sense of the word!? That’s how I like to envision it for myself (said as I finish ingesting a cup of hot tea and steel cut oats with blackberries and honey)!
I’ve been an old bitty for years then. I appreciate my quiet and when I get home I don’t want to hear a thing until I have settled down. It’s nice being comfortable with your surroundings, you actually slow down and enjoy them.
not even 30 yet? Yewp… not old yet. Trust me, you’ll know when. Back on the sphere. Will be sniffing around every now and then. Not sure where you are…assuming Chi is treating you well.