I’m slowly sinking back into the groove.
I finally got a full-time job. Before-me would be thrilled at the hours (2-1030pm) because mornings by myself are the best time to be creative. I get to sit in my kitchen, sipping coffee and listening to my cat purr next to me, and words pour out like an overflowing sink.
Right-now-me is a little torn, because I finally am able to spend time with my beau, which I haven’t been able to do for some time.
After taking nine years to get things right, he and I have finally put the pieces together. We fit into each other’s life without rearranging, without mashing in corners to fit. It feels like I can make up for all the time that he wasn’t there.
As it is, with this upcoming job, we’ll be ships passing in the night for most of the week.
When I used to think about my future, it used to also center around my career. Moving upwards, making strides, becoming the first to do this or that. Moving was necessary, changing jobs was necessary, school was necessary. I was willing to make sacrifices.
I guess that’s what’s funny about growing up. Sacrifices aren’t so important. It’s saving things that really mean something.
Even if it’s not perfect, I’ll take those moments just before we roll into bed, and the breakfasts before I wave him off to work. And, then I’ll sit down at my computer with my cup of coffee, filled to the brim, and let the words spill out.