It’s almost 9 o’clock on a Tuesday. This means that I have three hours until I publish my blog. The deadline. Sure, there were times when I would publish after my own arbitrary deadline, but it never sat right with me.

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My daughter, Riva, on her 21st birthday

Today, I am physically exhausted. Yesterday was my daughters 21st birthday, and she threw a big party with the help of her best friend. There was food and booze, games, laughter, and getting to know people, and booze, did I mention booze? It was wonderful, but it was a lot, a whole lot. This morning I had to wake up way earlier than I wanted to because I had a medical appointment. My eyes felt as if someone came in and poured some sand in them in the middle of the night. Gritty and dry, they did not want to open, and I barely made it to the contact lens re-wetting drops, groping my way blindly. My joints ached because, together with my husband, I was cleaning the house up to the very last minute. But this one is on me. If my house wasn’t so messy to begin with, I would have spent a lot less time un-messing it. (That’s not even a word, but that’s how it felt — not actually deep cleaning, but un-messing.)

I also feel the beginning of a migraine — I feel it on the left side of my forehead. It wants to bloom, wants to unfurl its tendrils and take over my head, but I am not going to let it. I am going to take some medication as soon as I finish this blog. Weirdly, there is a little part of me that almost craves the migraine pain. It is my punishment for being late with this blog, for not even thinking about it earlier, for all my previous little sins of chocolate and wine from the night before. It’s not rational, but that little part that keeps me honest, it is a pretty loud.

All I really want to do is crawl into bed, snuggle down and sleep for the next ten hours, but I also want to finish this more than I want to rest. I’m not going to call myself a hero for finishing under the wire, however, I won’t stop others from doing so. No, I do not run into burning buildings to save puppies and babies, but I have the task of sitting in this comfortable chair and rapidly typing away with the very tips of my fingers.

First world problems, I know. From my typing on this laptop chair, I can smell the laundry detergent and hear the washing machine nearby. So, I have a sense of security. It’s the little things that make me feel strangely safe, because I am deeply aware that safety is an illusion. We are all at the mercy of randomness and chaos. I am not trying to be a downer here, but I am succeeding. All I am trying to say (unsuccessfully and in a completely muddled way) is that nothing is predictable in this world.

A friend’s house burned down a couple of days ago. Luckily, no one, including their dogs, was at home. Things — possessions — were lost, sure, some more valuable than others in sentimental and monetary value. And the things like family photographs and mementos from grandparents, those things are irreplaceable. The house can be rebuilt, furniture can be replaced. Our friend, who made it to our party, knows how lucky he was that neither he nor his father were hurt.

Another point is that gratitude should be given for what we have, not what we lack, and I, for one, am deeply grateful for the people in my life, including my family, my friends, and my children and their friends. And yes, I am also grateful for the things in my life, too, and I am not ashamed of my materialism. I love my luxuries, and my necessities.

Now, it is late in the evening. The deadline approaches! I am pushing myself to finish, but it is difficult to know where the end is as this piece is pretty much stream of consciousness writing.

I suppose I can end this blog at any point.

So I will.

Good night.

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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