Sunday Morning

It's 8am on a Sunday and I woke up on my own. I may crawl back into bed but that my body is finally accepting my life's schedule is cause for celebration as much as it is cause for grief.
I knew some day I would cross the line and have a trait about me that was once delegated to "when you get older" and this is one of them. I have always been one to sleep for 12 hours if given the chance. There is only a tiny bit of remorse at missing the morning because all the fun I was missing was at night.
As I have grown up this last year, I realize that the person I am becoming doesn't see the night life as a priority. I haven't searched it out. I decided that my career is worth starting. I understand that sleep is neccessary but not a hobby. And here I sit on a weekend with no plans and consciousness. Strange indeed.

The house is quiet. I slept on the couch last night. One of the girls came in quite late and made a storm of kitchen noise but I was determined not to wake in a fit of anger and lie in bed for an hour trying to recover.
I didn't drink yesterday. Not one drop. I looked at the shelf of beer in my fridge and chose water. When I wanted to eat, I put on my shoes and went to the gym for half an hour. I broke my hairclip right there on the elliptical. When I came home I served myself fresh fruit salad and more water. And it came. That wave of remembering that you can avoid only as easily as a tsunami viewed from a beach house.

I didn't know why I called Him. I knew it was great that He called me. But I had nothing missing in my settled world. I decided one day that I would just hit send to the text message and I was in a place where that was a command and not a reminder of bad service. And it was grand. He called every day of the week following, and somehow I wanted him around. I arranged it to make it easy on both of us. He came to me.

We kissed. We talked. We ate. We cuddled. We giggled. He was captive to my voice. I was captivated by his gaze. He wanted me upstairs. I followed. He showered. I showered. He had his shoes on when I came out. I stood in a towel, my ankles a bit chilled from the four drops left there to dry themselves, hearing how he is glad I am back and how wonderful a home cooked meal tasted and how lovely my home is as he kisses me tenderly in his shoes. I was in shock. He bought a book of behavior disorders to find out why he treats people so poorly so he can find out how to stop having regret in the morning and he is leaving me wide awake standing in a towel. I told Him I am right here and there is no reason to have regret in the morning; just stop. He had decided. I told Him to enjoy his regret since he so obviously prefers to say sorry in the morning than yes right now. He was glad I understood him so well. I walked Him out in my towel. It took three minutes for that truck to start. I have no reason to assume it wasn't for another girl on the phone and not a reconsideration of me. I didn't make it up the steps before the tears came. And they didn't stop.

I came out of it. I was covered in defeat. And I knew it wasn't me who was to blame. I was trying to regain that innocence that he forced me from last year. I wanted something familiar in my life. I wanted to see in him that I am the kind of woman that guys will think got away. He gave me all of that. And a reminder that I have grown up this year. That my world is no longer out of my hands. That I choose to make ME the center of my universe and not Him. I wanted Him to grow up too and our meeting would be on even ground. He hasn't grown and he pulled me down to his level. And it took one day to remember I am not who He thinks I am. I have grown up. And that is cause for celebration and also a moment of grief.

Today is a new day. The sky is blue. The air is crisp. The trees gently sway. I choose for this day to be filled with simple joys and light conversation and peace in the knowledge that I am an evolving maturation. And today I will grieve for the lost innocence. And I will celebrate the wisdom, self reliance, capabilities, and growing pains of being here as I am today.