Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: Jeffrey Guterman

Today’s morning: wake up, make bed, don workout gear, consume coffee, attend spin class with mom, eat, shower. Since then I’ve been holed up in my room trying to get some things done lest next week is a total nightmare. Work, work, work. For an “Unemployed” person, I sure have a lot of work.

But the presents are wrapped, and there is turkey in the oven, and good smells in the house. B&S are here, and there is a general feeling of goodwill and resistance to snap judgments in the air, even if last night I did drink too much wine and made at least one error in judgment, snap or otherwise.

Even if I did stub my pinky toe on a box yesterday and it’s now black and blue and purple, matching the bruise over my eye from Monday’s drawer-jab.

Even if I am wearing white jeans after Labor Day.

Even if, from the looks of the stuff under the tree, we did go a little “overboard.”

Okay, I just moved outside to the screened-in lanai, and this, my friends, is the reason people live in Florida. It’s gray, but the air is pretty much the perfect accompaniment to my tank top and thin gray cotton sweater (the one with the Shiraz stains which, unsurprisingly, came out in my mother’s high-powered wash cycle.) There’s a gentle breeze, and nothing seems all that pressing all of a sudden. I don’t even care that Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon are donesville (I have on good authority they’ve cheated on each other for years, anyways.)

I think I’ll grab a snack, take a walk, peruse a book … and then I realize: I might actually be a little bit of what they call “relaxed.” Holy shit. It only took three days.