I’m having this weird George Bailey gratitude for everything in my life despite the fact that things aren’t going that great, which of course is also how it went for George Bailey. “I’m going to jail. Isn’t it wonderful?”
If you never saw It’s a Wonderful Life I guess you have no idea what I’m talking about. To sum up, things are going very badly for this one guy, George Bailey, and then he gets to see his life from another perspective and all the rotten things suddenly seem wonderful to him.
That’s how I am right now.
There’s nothing worse than a positive person. And yet here I am.
I’m grateful for my little mill house, even though I live in a marginal neighborhood. The neighbors are all very kind to me, and there’s often window-peeking excitement, like CPS showing up and the like. But it feels safe here, and it’s quiet AF because I’m on a dead-end street and have no one behind me but a railroad track, and my mortgage is approximately $10 a month like I live on Baltic Avenue.
What’s the rent on Baltic? Is there really a real Baltic Avenue in real life? Because I would love to live there. Or Oriental, which I really hope is no longer a street name.
I’m grateful for my baby-blue car that I LOVE, even though I would have preferred the no-convertible one with the white roof, and every time I tell everyone that they’re all, Seriously? But yes. The white roof would’ve been so cute. But they only had a convertible available and once again people are all, Seriously?
Now that I have a convertible, I can see that it’s pretty fun. Anyway, I just made my first payment on it and I’m grateful to be able to pay for it.
I’m grateful for my friends, who are all younger and cuter than me but what can you do. Almost everyone I am friends with is the sensible half of the relationship, and thank heavens there are sensible people out there who actually like me. If I were the sensible type, I’d be driven insane by me, but some people aren’t judgmental pieces of dung, and for that I am happy.
I just heard the rooster crow across the street and I’m also grateful for that rooster.
I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I’m not on an antidepressant or anything, which is usually the time I get annoyingly content, like a sleeping cat with starfish paws.
This weekend I was stricken with a migraine, but before I was I went on a walk in a woodsy trail with a necklace and lipgloss on, because that’s how I outdoor. Someone mentioned that the American South is like all of Australia, in that the outdoors is constantly trying to kill you. So even though I was out there with ticks and copperheads and Confederate flags, I still felt happy I live in such a beautiful state.
I know. I’m the worst.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I’m 54. I opened all my presents this weekend because my actual birthday will be busy and I wanted time to appreciate them all as I unwrapped them. That vintage necklace was a gift and isn’t it cute cute cute? It needed to go out and enjoy the tick-y woods. It was probably holed up in a jewelry box for decades.
Anyway, my burgeoning lyme disease will talk to you tomorrow on my bee day.
Before I go, did I ever tell you that my grandfather figured out that our ages always added up to the same number?
Tomorrow I’ll be 54. 5 + 4 = 9.
He would have turned 99 this year, in May. 9 + 9 = 18. 1 + 8 = 9.
It always worked out that way since the year he figured it out. I don’t know why he was sitting around figuring that out, but if you had to live with my grandmother you’d have gone off and thought of shit like that too. #Pill.