Ugh. It’s almost four in the morning, and I really meant to be in bed by now. Instead I just got home, brushed my teeth and such, and sat down to blog. With any luck, I’ll fly through this in no time. That being said, I really have no idea what I’m going to talk about and forgot how to form a sentence two hours ago, so I could be here a while. The good news is the house is quiet, which means it’s easy to concentrate. The bad news is the house is quiet, which means my body wants to fall asleep. Maybe I should bang some pots and pans to wake myself up.

Raise your hand if you think my mom and dad would appreciate that.

I spent the afternoon with my friend Bonnie. We have a mutual friend who’s moving into a new home, so we volunteered to run around and look for a few decorations. Y’all, I don’t know if you’ve ever shopped for curtains, but I don’t recommend it. Like, if someone invites you to peruse for window treatments, just stay home and pull your fingernails out with a pair of wire pliers instead–you’ll have more fun. After spending all day going from store to store and looking at solids and patterns of every color, Bonnie and I still couldn’t come up with anything to match an already-purchased comforter. Apparently, finding the right pair of drapes is harder than finding a husband.

All that being said, the day had its highlights. Bonnie and I actually started this project last night, and since I’ve been sick, I walked around all evening with a washcloth in my pocket incase I needed to blow my nose. (If you’re judging me, stop. A washcloth is easier to keep up with than a bunch of little tissues.) Anyway, today Bonnie gave me an unexpected gift–an honest-to-god, one-of-a-kind handkerchief because “friends don’t let friends blow their noses with washrags.” So take a look. The hanky is western-themed, which Bonnie said was in honor of my “cowboy fetish.” The only thing I have to say to that is, “Giddy up.”

For dinner I met my friends and former roommates, Justin and Ashley, at Olive Garden. We started a little before seven, stayed for a couple hours, then went back to their house. This, of course, is where I used to live, the place where feeling welcome and comfortable is a given. After a while, Ashley retired to bed, and Justin and I stayed up talking until almost three. Conversation topics included working for the man, exes we hope to never see again, and how everyone in America is so easily offended these days. (If that statement offends you, well, you just proved the point.) Anyway, we also discussed some of the reasons it’s harder to form solid friendships as you get older. When Justin and I met over fifteen years ago, we put a lot of time into each other, confessed a lot of secrets, and pretty much bonded for life. Now that we’re older and busier, however, not only is it difficult to find new people we get along with, but we simply don’t have the amount of time to invest that we did in our twenties.

Currently the house is sixty-seven degrees (Dad likes it like that), and I’m wearing a sweatshirt and sock cap and still freezing. It’s not even winter yet, but my skin is dry, my toes are cold, and my body is already wanting to pack on extra pounds and hibernate until spring. (The whole situation is not cute, and I’m not impressed.) Honestly, I’m not sure which one is dropping faster–the temperature or my generally cheery disposition.

If it’s not obvious–I don’t like this time of year. Quick–someone send a cowboy over to warm me up.

I realize some of “you people” like the winter. You get to “bundle up.” You get to drink hot chocolate. You get to wear your cute little scarves and hats and whatever else because “you can always put more clothes on but you can’t take more clothes off.” That’s okay. This isn’t a moral issue; it’s just a matter of seasonal preference. My favorite season is summer, but if yours is winter, we can still be friends. Still, I’d like to be clear–I’m personally really looking forward to June.

Recently someone told me their head wasn’t a good place to live, so lately I’ve been thinking about all the ways in which we’re uncomfortable in our own bodies, always wanting to change something about our physical appearance, always looking for distractions because we can’t sit still with our own thoughts. And I think it’s ironic that we can spend hours looking for curtains or over a decade working on a friendship, but many of us are hesitant to spend that time working on ourselves–you know–the one we live with. I know I felt that way when I first started therapy. Sometimes I still do. After all, personal growth takes time and hard work–a lot of it. I don’t think therapy is the only way to get to know, like, and accept yourself, but it is one way, and tonight I’m reminded that however it happens, it’s never too late to give to yourself the way you give to projects and everyone else around you. It’s never too late to be your own friend. To me this feels like the sun’s warm rays in summer, although I imagine to someone else it’d feel like a cool breeze in autumn or the snow falling in winter, whatever that thing is you’ve been longing for and haven’t experienced in a while, that thing that feels like coming home again.