Today was a day like most others. I woke up shortly before the alarm clock (which was kind of nice since lately my body has decided that 6:30 is perfect time to rise even though Salman Rushdie keeps me up late), ate some Peanut Butter Cheerios while making hate-y faces at Gayle King and apologizing to Charlie Rose for her existence.
Around 8:30 I poured a cup of coffee and checked on the herblings. In case you are wondering they’re doing quite well. I was a little worried about the Parsley, but there are signs of life in the bucket. The mustard is a bit of a drama queen and will fall to the ground should it be in need of a sip of water.
The sun was shining, the breeze blowing, the outside smelling like what drinking from a garden hose tastes like and I had that “holy shit! this is my life” moment. This is what I do. I sit next to breezy, sunny windows and drink coffee and say stupid things on Twitter and work.
This all had extra significance today, because it was on this day in 2009 that I was laid off from my last “real job.” Can you believe it? I can hardly believe it. Since then I’ve managed to scrape together enough freelance work to pay my mortgage for thirty-six months. THIRTY-SIX MONTHS! I’m amazed. I’m more than amazed. I’m dumbfounded, starstruck, and just a little bewildered.
People, I have been cubefree for three entire years. I cannot even begin to figure out how to thank my lucky stars for this extended stroke of good fortune. Each year when this anniversary rolls around I say that I just want to make it through the summer without having to get a real job. It’s worked so far, so I’ll say it again. I just want to make it through the summer without having to get a real job. I have big plans for this summer, not the least of which include Library Mondays with The Tibbles and a writing a fucking novel.