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It's almost over, my week off.
I still have a night in Baltimore laid out in front of me so let's not get misty eyed yet.

This isn't my first week off, and it certainly won't be the last. I get three or four a year. It's a perk of living away from my parents and my parents living away from each other. While it was hard not having my mom nearby while I was pregnant and in those hazy newborn days, it's awful nice now when she takes him to her house for a long stretch. It's not a house I ever lived in, but it's Jake's Mimi's house and that's pretty damned special. My dad lives in a house that I've never been in but now Jake has. And he swung in a big boy swing all by himself for the first time in the backyard of that house.
I like it.

Usually when Jake is away I throw my entire being into recapturing the me that I lost when I became a mom. I go to the same places, see the same people, do the same things I did a decade ago. And it is good. Too good. So effing good that it makes me sad.
Sad that I'm not all that cool anymore.
Sad that I'm not all that young anymore.
Sad that I'm not so cute anymore that I can buy things with a smile and walk away without owing anyone anything.
Sad I can't walk into any one of dozens of seedy little bars and know the bartender, know the patrons, know the jukebox, know the secret specials that they only give to the kids in the biz.
Sad that my girls aren't with me, sad that we don't own the place and sad that the haters aren't staring and wondering why we are taking all the attention without even trying. Sad that we aren't so fat anymore. We were the original fatgirls and we lived the fatgirl life. Now there is a whole nother set of chicks doing it the way we did. It's their turn now. And after they are done, it will be someone else's turn.

Did you ever have a time like that? When you walked around like you owned your town and you totally got away with it? It's a good time. Especially here in my town, because there is an awful lot of town to own.

***

This week off I slept in a little later each morning, played around with my BAC each day, saw a bunch of old friends, hit up some old spots, ate a lot of junk, watched a lot of non-G-rated stuff on TV. And on the internet. I read some. Painted my toenails. Shaved all my moustaches. Ripped out a bustedassed window sill that I hated. Did some touch up painting. Grocery shopped. Twice. Went to Lowe's. Wal*shart. An open market/community festival to pick up some new flowers. And a bigger recycling bin. Laundry. Dishes that weren't really dirty but needed washed. Windows.

Hold up.

See that?

See what I did?

Grown up stuff.

Yikes, right?

And it was good.

My heart hurts a little bit because I know that this is the beginning of getting, well, mature on my downtime. I've got a pretty good handle on being a 9-5 superstar, and I'm doing surprisingly well with the 5-9s when Jake is around. I guess the days that Jake isn't around are the last step. I guess it's time.

I'm going to be 33 this summer. But I'm telling everyone I'm going to be 36 because I look AWESOME for 36.

I had a really good run of it.

You wouldn't believe how really good.

And I'm not dead. Or addicted. Or missing a limb. Or alone. I have all my teeth. I have a great job. A stellar education. An amazing kid. The best friends anyone could ever imagine. I have my health, despite my face caving in on itself and my crotch getting eaten by cancer. I got better. I have a reliable automobile. All the utilities are on. I have tomatoes growing upstairs that Jake planted all by himself. My cat is on my lap. My cat that I got for my 21st birthday. My pots and pans all match. So do my towels. My plumbing backed up into my basement yesterday, and it is totally taken care of today. I couldn't stop laughing because there was corn floating around in the mess. There is no level of maturity that will ever make me stop laughing at cornpoop. My belly is full. My heart is full. My house is full. My wallet is kinda full. My dancecard is full.

This isn't so bad.