I’m making a peacock pillow for a friend–the peacock motifs from the afghan but put together in a pillow. And, dear readers, I am enjoying tucking the ends. I’m finding it soothing.
Me. End tucking. Enjoyment.
Is there a way to check and see if you’ve become a pod person?
Last night, it struck me that I’m about to have the whole house to myself. It seemed ludicrous and marvelous. I know it will also feel sad and weird at some point. Even now, I’m finding it disconcerting that the wedding is happening and so far all I’m doing is bringing gummy things to a bachelorette party and listening to my dad as he tries to figure out how to fly my nephew here.
But even that is also really nice. This isn’t my problem. And not my responsibility. I have nothing to do but show up. And possibly clean my bathroom.
Another weird thing is that I’ve had coffee or lunch with vendors twice over the last couple weeks–one coffee, one lunch–and both of them went on, for a long time. Like… well… I don’t think that I got tremendously better looking in the last 14 days, but maybe it’s my sparkling wit? I don’t know. It was nice. These strangers were enjoying hanging out with me.
Maybe this still is what I was trying to wrestle with yesterday. Things right now are good. I am happy. I’ve done some things these past few years that I’m really proud of and they’ve paid off in big and interesting ways.
But I don’t know how to experience happiness and satisfaction as anything other than a trap–either the bait that lures you into complacency so that life can kick you upside the head or the hubris that then causes you to run around being an unbearable jackass who no one likes.
Unhappiness, as I have been taught, is the mechanism by which the Universe keeps you from utter misery and bearable to other people.
In my mind, I know that’s a lie. You can foster an atmosphere of pleasant fortune around you. But convincing my heart? That’s an ongoing process.