Scorpio Season: What’s my age again?

This moment is a perfect moment. The kind you’re almost sad to have because as it’s happening you’re already missing it, wishing it would last. But it’s not a terrible sad the way some of them can be, you see. The windows are open wide to let in all sixty-two degrees, there’s a round-bellied kitten folded into my lap looking at me like I’m the best thing she’s ever seen, steam is curling my way from a fresh cup of mint tea, I’m writing grotesquely overinflated run-on sentences as various artists shuffle in and out compiling my authorial soundtrack, and my view is dominated chiefly by a dotingly patient man not ten feet from me cuddled up with our snoring pup. This is my heaven. I savor these.

These are the days I look forward to. When people tell me about their plans for their days off and all of the wild adventures they’re going to have, I get exhausted sometimes just by the mere thought of it all. This is through no obvious fault of their own. It just comes down to a matter of preference. They go out, I stay in, and all’s right in the world. Well… not really, actually. Not even close. But for argument’s sake, let’s assume you get the picture, shall we?

Every so often though, I get a “wild hair” as my mother calls them. I get a hankering to go out and have an adventure of my own. Turning 28 this month just so happened to coincide nicely with several such adventures that were just my speed. I went to my first book festival in Austin, TX where I got to meet two of my favorite authors and treat myself to signed copies of their newest books. In keeping with the bibliophile theme of sorts, a friend and I made plans to head back into Austin for another book signing event for a third favorite author also releasing a new book. We ate great food, I got a free birthday shake (SCORE!), and made a lasting memory with a soul very dear to my heart.

Turning twenty-eight was a beautifully right feeling. Quiet and calm and all-of-a-sudden. Like enjoying the evening so much that you miss the clock striking midnight until you catch a glimpse of the time in between bouts of laughter. No one else notices. Just you and the clock. A secret agreement of sorts. A gentle nod that says “there you are and here I am and we are together and that’s the point.” And with a knowing smile you slide back into the moment of gnashing teeth and flashy, flighty youth. How delicious.


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