The Shape of Days

Today is Sunday, the second day of April, the first day of summer if you judge by that peculiar ritual we have of sliding our clocks forward and back as the seasons drift by.

Today is also, if memory serves me correctly, the first day since I’ve moved here that I’ve had nothing at all to do. No work, no errands, no invitations from new friends. Today is the first day since I’ve moved here that I will sit at home by myself and do whatever I please.

This is, of course, terrifying to me.

It’s not that I don’t want to spend the day at home by myself. Part of me is kind of looking forward to it. I’ve got chores to do around the house, and a day spent here taking care of those, watching a little television, reading, maybe going for a run … that sounds pretty good to me.

But then again … you know. A new town. A new home. A whole new crop of friends. It’s pretty easy, in those quiet moments between nine thirty and nine thirty five on a Sunday morning to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the reason why none of my newfound acquaintances are beating down my door today is because they don’t want me around, because they’re were just being polite to include me thus far, that they consider their work done, that I will not be hearing from them again.

Stop it. Stop looking at me that way. Seriously. I know it’s silly. I know it’s dumb. But if I’m the only person out there who’s ever felt this way, I’ll eat my shoe.

Besides, Internet. Wait until one of your friends tells you that you’re not wanted any more. That’ll change your perspective on things real quick. Suddenly lots of things become possible.

So yeah. Today it’s a one-man show. Today I’m sitting at home by myself. Television. Book. Music. E-mail. Maybe a run later. God willing, writing.

Here’s hoping I don’t end up insane.

• Two open letters
• Yet another last-run-of-the-season
• ‘I’m twenty-three years old. I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.’