Day 12: I think I'm up
I think I’m up.
‘Bout 5:30 a.m. and I’m saying this to myself.
Lying in bed with eyes closed but open.
Window’s cracked; it’s spring (but a Chicago spring, so not nice enough to really have it open, but just wide enough to let fresh alley air in).
The birds sound nice though.
Moderately annoyed because my Slap slipped off my head last night. The elastic usually holds it in place—maybe it’s just stretched out due to my expanding sense of freedom lately? Guess I’m getting a big head. Corny, I know. But funny to me. I’m a pun-ny girl.
It’s got to be about 6:00 now. I could get up. Start this day. Get it in.
I NEVER get up this early though. For at least the past 6 years or so, I’m usually in bed until half-past-almost-late, and for the past 2 years I haven’t even left the house on a weekday til’ sometime between I-wish-a-mother%#~*!-would-say-something to-me-about-being-late and I-don’t-give-a-damn-o’clock.
But those days are gone. I quit on that life of resigned resentment.
Now, I’m eager to do some yoga, organize mail, send some emails, wash my hair, design a poster for my own client, call my mom back, call my friends’ mom back, check on my brother, and my neighbor that texted me the other day; get some new face moisturizer; stop at the post office; finish that budget form and my business plan. Maybe take a walk later, and a nap. You know:
whatever I want.
I’ve worked so hard for a paycheck that I eventually gained the leverage to come into the office whenever I chose, but I also eventually realized that I can choose a life that I actually want, too.
Damn. I think I’m up.
***originally written May 26th, 2017 in a sleepy haze***