Wake up, finally, because the morning light—well, the mid morning light— got in through the curtains. At first you thought your phone was going off on your bedside table but really it was the birds outside in the trees, singing, singing, making you believe the long cold wet winter is almost over and that one day very soon it will be spring.
Wriggle down into the sheets and duvet cover that you had sent over from the States; reflect on the money well spent in that endeavour. Look up out at the blue sky from around the pillow fort you constructed, because this is why you sleep with your head under the window, bad feng shui and poor thermodynamics notwithstanding. You don’t have to go anywhere, today, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You may call your mom;you might drink some tea; you potentially will go through your closet and get rid of everything that doesn’t fit. There’s lunch to be had and a walk to be taken, sure, of course, and so much more besides, but not yet, not quite yet. Stretch and turn and mumble and smile; put your feet back up against your fuzzy blue hot water bottle, which is still warm from the night before.
It’s still winter, of course, and there are still things to be done and thought about and attended to in general. There are still quite a few decisions to be made and quite a few options to be explored. There are still questions: how long, when, how—to go or to stay, to stay or to go. Your mind is still busy, breathless, your brow is often furrowed.
But something has changed, in the last few weeks. Something is starting to change. Maybe it’s that there’s been a bit more sun lately—it never, even after almost a decade in Seattle where the exact same thing happened every year, fails to astound you to recall that you are almost completely solar-powered and that your mood is pretty much directly correlated with the amount of vitamin D you get. Maybe it’s that the house is going really well or that you’re liking all your friends a whole lot lately or that work seems less hilariously impossible, more like something that you might be able to do at some not-too-distant point in the future. Maybe things have just settled down, plain and simple. Maybe things are finally starting to work.
Recall you have some cool new coconut shampoo to try out in the shower this morning, which will later cause your flatmate to tell you it smells so good she wants to take a bite out of your hair. Think about going to have hush puppies and swamp dip at Sweet Mother’s Kitchen for lunch, outside on the sidewalk if you can get a seat, which probably you won’t because there’s always a queue, but you’ll try anyway. Think about painting your toenails, about washing your beautiful orange sheets and hanging them on the line to dry, about wearing one of your octopus shirts, about the music you’ll listen to on your walk down to the shops to catch the bus through the tunnel. Think about everything the day hold, everything there is for you in this city: all the friends and all the sunshine, all the birds in the trees, and vow to leap out of bed and get in amongst it…right after you roll over and pull the blankets back over your shoulders, wiggle your toes and close your eyes for just ten more minutes.