Lately I've been reading first thing in the morning instead of immediately getting ready for the day or doing any work. I've been waking up at the butt crack of dawn since elementary school when we bought The Sims and I became mildly addicted and started waking up at four in the morning so I could play for hours before school, but since I've been focused on fitting work into whatever "extra" time I have most of my odd morning rituals have been abandoned. BUT GUESS WHAT, there's no such thing as "extra" time. And it turns out that odd rituals are really important. And just like it isn't a waste to put makeup on when nobody is going to see you if it makes you feel good, it's also not a waste to spend thirty minutes reading some Patrick Rothfuss (yeah hi, I guess my 30s are when I get really into the fantasy genre - this is just who I am now guys, take it or leave it) before taking a shower or doing something to justify the paycheck you're still somehow earning. 

Especially when, let's be honest okay, you're not that productive throughout the rest of the day. I've reached the "fuck it" phase of whatever stage of life this is and if you haven't yet I highly recommend that you join me here. We smile and nod at work emails that used to infuriate us, and we take candy bar flavored creamer in our coffee. The cat somehow made a hole in the bottom of our new couch and sleeps inside of it, and we're fine with that. 

Leaving the house - other than to go to the park or the grocery store - is starting to feel a little bit more normal, even though the things I'm doing aren't necessarily normal. Last week, for example, I got to experience a day in the life of multiple children "virtual learning" with two toddlers thrown in for fun and by "got to experience" I mean that I ordered a pizza for lunch and let the TV be on all day and was glad that my kid isn't old enough for the state to care what I teach her. On another day I paid a nice lady to come sit with Joe so I could bring my work to Diego's work so that I could actually complete some work which felt (a) nice, because there's no quiet like the quiet of a coffee shop with no tables and (b) risky, because indoor dining technically isn't allowed here for four more days and although I was masked up and tucked away in a far corner and technically not dining it still felt like breaking a rule. 

I don't need to go anywhere and so I largely do not and will continue not to, but taking the train and walking in Central Park and being irritated for regular city living reasons were like balm to my soul the last couple of weeks. I don't know what the next months will bring, and I have to live one day at a time if I don't want to collapse, but it's nice to remember some of the reasons I love to live in this godforsaken Christmas morning of a city. 

 

What did my arms do before they held you?

SYLVIA PLATH

Waking up to a temperature under sixty degrees (that's Fahrenheit, exotic foreign readers) feels like God looking right into my window and saying, "I see you. Here is a gift for all of your troubles." Especially after a season of maneuvering a toddler and her stroller/tricycle/wagon up and down two flights of very steep, very narrow stairs on our way to and from very hot, very sticky excursions. It's just, I'm just. It's been so hot. 

We slept with the window open last night. I'm writing this in bed, wrapped up in Brown Blanket - Purple Blanket is in Joe's crib, thank you for asking I'll send your regards - drinking coffee and smelling the air and savoring not being depressed. Everything felt grey for about two weeks, and the only reason I can sort of measure the time is because it started shortly after Joe's second birthday at the end of August and started to dissipate a few days ago. 

It was a lot of things, and it was no one thing - you know, I know you know. My brain just forced its own fallow period out of self preservation. Anyway, this drop in temperature feels like a "Welcome back" from the universe and everything is all about me et cetera.