January 2017


My alarm goes off at 7:30. It’s been four weeks since I’d had to wake up so early. Yuck. In my head, I know 7:30 isn’t that early. But it is for me right now. Just coming off winter vacation, I still hav’t recovered from New Year’s Eve. Not that I really did anything for New Year’s Eve – I was in bed by midnight, after all. But somehow, I’ve still been on a schedule of sleeping at 2:00 and waking up around 10:00. I hit snooze and let my alarm go off a few more time. I don’t need to be up at 7:30. 8:00 is even enough time to get ready. Even 8:30. After playing around on my phone for a few minutes, I’m too hungry to just lay around any longer. I sit up and put my slippers and sweater, pulling myself away from the warm blankets.

I’m 31 today. The second year of my fourth decade of life. If I lived to be 93, today would be my one third mark. If I lived to be 62, I would be half way there. That’s a sobering thought. Should I be having a third-life crisis? A mid-life crisis? Nah, not yet. I’ll probably live to be 124, so today I’m only finished one fourth of my magnificent life. Maybe I’ll have a quarter-life crisis. I don’t even know what that is. Maybe I made it up. Maybe now is the time when I start to seriously question my life choices, not that I haven’t done that already. What have I accomplished? What have I learned? Did I take the right major? Why didn’t I study physics? Or information technology? Should I move back to Canada someday? What career am I going to have? Is it so horrible if I don’t want to have kids? Why am I so lazy? Wouldn’t it be ironic if I died exactly on my birthday? My husband doesn’t like it when I say things like that, but I think it would be kind of funny.