This morning was hazier than ever was a Monday. (Perhaps due to my childish inner need to still be different from the universe, I don't usually hate Mondays. I usually face them with the naive exuberance that perhaps this week will be different. Perhaps I will change the world this week.)
This morning I sat down on the couch to rifle through my briefcase, looking for this week's consortium of CONFIDENTIAL-capped papers, and fell asleep for half an hour.
I used to thrive on maximum five hours of sommeil, now it seems I've become addicted to seven. Perhaps I am finally doing enough physical activity to require more rest, or perhaps I've simply adapted to Dave's hours.
Somehow I don't seem to mind those extra two hours of stillness, somehow despite them I have days where I feel productive enough.
(I am changing.)
Last night I learned a lesson, but probably not the usual one.
Last night the young lady who borrowed my car to go pick up her kitten from Waterloo, was two hours late, and we stayed up waiting until one in the morning, even though I had suggested she just leave the keys on our bookshelf if we weren't there. (we never lock the door)
Last night we drifted in and out of consciousness, curled up on the couch, warm and quiet and I alternated between content, and thrilled, the two being so opposite and yet so similar...
The lesson I learned was that the young lady who borrowed the car, despite her lack of make-up and environmental engineer career, was just as human as everyone else, that despite the outlandish offer I'd extended, I learned to not expect the same effort from anyone else.
And you'd think that from this I would learn to not lend things to strangers, but I'm too odd for that, too addicted to believing that if I engage in random acts of kindness, other people might as well.
Instead I learned not to expect too much from people, that each human carries many confusions in their head, and that consideration is a difficult thing to remember amidst other stress, and I learned one extra rung of patience on a ladder that I am slowly learning to climb.
I learned that people with potentially good hearts still have difficulties making it on time.
I'm a flake. I know. I have no compunctions about my inner flakiness.
In the meantime, this morning, upon shuddering awake from the sofa at seven thirty, a spurious shape caught my eye and eased me awake in the warmest way possible.
Y'see, a few weeks ago to celebrate my own enthusiasm at the prospect of spring, I had bought myself pale yellow daisies and arranged them on the mantle and they lived there for weeks singing to the room with their brightness.
On Saturday, I emptied the vase, the petals finally wilted, and I mourned momentarily and wondered which bouquet I would buy next, and decided to wait until I saw one which inspired me.
Not two hours later, Dave was handing me a pink-papered bunch of deep ochre mums, that he'd snuck in and bought while I was smelling begonias in Bloor west village.
This morning, the slightly rounder, fatter shape of the mums caught my eye, the inch or so difference in height, the gradient or two of difference in colour.
This morning began in a drooling blur of sleeplessness (but with valuable lessons), and swiftly turned a brighter shade as I opened my eyes to our home.
Our home.
And in still other news, my new office is way too big and everything seems so far away.