A Day in the Life
To share the uneventful but sweet days Mississippi gives to us. So in five years from now when we need a reminder of the "good old days" when life was slow, and we got by on one income, and it didn't matter if we wore the same thing twice because people didn't mind... we'll have it here, to remember.
7:15am, my alarm goes off. I've started getting up earlier this year to have a slow morning. To have my "Jesus hour" as I've so named it in my planner. The coffee is already waiting for me (praise be to automatic coffee makers as wedding gifts), and I curl up on the couch with a blanket and my bed head. This is my happy place. I have the YouVersion-app-man to read to me while I follow along in my own worn out pages. I'm in Job these days.
8:05am, my alarm goes off again and it's time to get dressed. I've usually "snoozed" it once or twice, and am left with time for only a swipe of mascara, half a bagel, and one stolen kiss from my sleeping husband. I'm out the door.
8:31am, I've made the 30-second commute to my office and I open the blinds before sitting at my desk. I used to walk to work, in the warmer months. I should walk again really. For the next few hours I'm writing and meeting and talking. And some days are more fun than others. But I'm happy here, and my boss has me laughing until my cheeks hurt at least once a day. I'm ready for lunch though, how long til lunch?
12:00pm, on the dot I've grabbed my bag, skipping out the door. I go home to meet C. He's at his desk when I walk in, studying of course. I wash a few of the dishes that were in the sink from the night before, and then head to the fridge to see what leftovers I can warm up. "Do you have to study while you eat?" This is my question that holds a different, realer question inside of it. "I can watch an episode or 2," he responds with a stretch and a smile. YES. This means last night's chicken and another episode of The Office, and I'm happy.
1:00pm, I should be back to work but I'm usually a little slower on the "getting back" part. Eventually I make it. And then I work quickly so I can squeeze out a few spare minutes to write. Whether to a friend or for the blog or just for myself. Writing gives a deep breath in the middle of the day.
5:00pm, and just like that it's time for home! If I was a bit draggy in the last few hours, I may have hopped next door to the old brown house turned coffee shop for an espresso frappe. It helps get me through a slow afternoon. But either way, 5pm comes around like clockwork and I'm heading home.
5:03pm, on a good day (good day qualifiers: C does not have night class or infinity long cadaver lab sessions) we're both back home. I may run to the grocery store, but only if it's Monday. Otherwise I'm in my jammies by 5:05pm and have started cutting up the veggies for dinner. I love making dinner. I put on my Gilmore Girls while C is studying, and chop the good things and sip the cheap wine and about an hour later I hug him at his desk as he's hunched over furiously writing notecards furiously, "Are you hungry?" He is.
We have a little window to do something together before he's back to studying. When the days were long we'd walk around out town. I might even get adventurous and go on a run. Or if we're especially lucky, right as the sun sets, we'd stumble upon a movie night on Main Street. I'll pour some of that cheap wine in our knock-off Yeti tumbler and C will carry our living room pouf down on his shoulder (we don't have any lawn chairs you see), and we'll park ourselves on the corner of the antique store. They are playing "Cinderella," so the street is packed with a hundred little dressed-up princesses and their moms who let them stay up past bed time for this. We like those nights.
10:30pm, around about now I wash my face, crawl into bed, and read a few chapters of whatever new book I'm hooked on. Currently: "Chasing Slow" by Erin Lochner. C finally joins me for a bit, even if he has to go back to studying, so we can each share our "Highs" and "Lows" of the day. I write them down, because I want to remember. He prays over me and I can barely stay awake. "Sweet dreams," I may have said aloud. And they are.