I've been really busy this week. Working full time--my first jaunt into women's clothes did not turn out well, as I accidentally stitched a pair of sleeves sideways onto a shift--and then "rehearsing" in the evenings so I can get my story cleared. Preparing to come home: in addition to taking care of getting Kizzy boarded, there's all the wedding details to worry about. Pressies, haircut for me, stitching my dress back up where I took it in an inch and a half. Then helping out friends: babysitting again, helping Other Nicole move into her brand spankin' new fabulous townhouse. And when I get a few moments, cuddling with mah beagle. Who is in deep trouble for chewing up another computer cord. Arg.
I'm not super-stressed, just tired. Ready to go home for some pettings and some cheese curds, to be with the family. I miss having family around me.
We are encouraged, as young women, to picture our weddings, our husbands, our children, our houses, even if when they happen they aren't exactly what you had in mind. Still, I am constantly reassured "it will happen."
But maybe it won't. No, really, stop doing the reassuring hand gesture and the understanding half-smile. Seriously. Maybe I'll never get married. It happens all the time. Maybe I'll never have kids. Maybe that won't be a bad thing. Maybe I'll never own my own house--have you seen the housing crisis lately? Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I'll live in Williamsburg and become one of the crazy interpreters who's been here for so long they start looking like part of the furniture. And maybe I'll contradict myself in a year's time and marry the Prince of Wales.
In the meanwhile...I'm just really looking forward to going home.