Yesterday was an altogether good day.
My mom was running late in picking me up, and since I wasn’t moving very fast, that gave me just enough time to do my morning routine as I like to do it.
When I got to the house, I did what I always do… run upstairs to my room and squeal at the Goose, who sleeps on my bed. The bonus was the pile of mail on the bed, which included a my new (pink!) sandals and a letter from a publishing company. I had sent one of my books in last week and, whadayaknow, they liked it :-). Looks like I have a publisher!
Even though my mom had been planning a big family/friends picnic for a while, I decided that it was my celebratory picnic. The more people poured in (maybe about 20 in total), the louder it got in the house, and the more I kind of hid out upstairs with the Goose.
I came down every half hour or so…
While eating… “Mom, the Goose isn’t upset at all the people… she’s laying on her back with her paws up in the air asking for belly rubs.”
Mid-conversation… “Mom, the Goose licked my plate.”
While my mom was trying to tell my aunt about the publishing thing… “Mom, what if the Goose has to use the litter box? She won’t come down with all the chaos.”
During clean up… “Mom, I carried her down to the litter… and then I had to escort her back upstairs by showing her that going around the corners was safe.”
Finally, I was falling asleep sitting up while everyone talked and people slowly began to leave. My mom told me to go upstairs and rest and she’d get me when it was time to go. So, I kicked off my new (pink!) sandals and went upstairs…
… to snuggle with the Goose, of course.
I was talking to my friend online on and off during the party, on my iPad from my perch upstairs, and I said that I worried everyone would be annoyed or even angry with me for being so “rude.” I seem so very capable… and yet, when lots of people invade my house… I really get unnerved. My coping strategies are to calm myself (by jabbering on and on about the kitties) and to make my own space. I did come down and talk to the family on and off, but hours-on-end just wasn’t possible for me.
Even at 25, I continue to straddle childhood and adulthood at times. In my family, I’m one of the kids… even though the youngest “kid” is 22. I’m the only one who has done any grad school, and the only one to have books being published, yet, in my family, I’m still excused in ways that I can’t imagine an adult being excused.
I guess I’m just my own quirky self in that way, as I am in many others.
Thankfully, I’m okay with that 🙂