All dressed up and nowhere to go — that old expression came to life for me, just now. And I stand here wondering, “Is that really so bad?”
Really, I am.
I’m not certain if I’ve just reached an all-time low, or whether — just maybe — I’ve finally passed over into that phase of my life where I give a shit, or not. Could this be transcendence, of sorts?
We’ve only just settled into our new abode — to the north and east of London. We’re in the country, really.
I look around the house and feel settled. The kids are at school. I do not work, at present. And I am lucky to say I have at least one friend who is near and dear.
But today I am alone.
And I took more care than usual just now, getting dressed.
I showered and shaved; painted my toes; did my hair and makeup. I even put on heels. Any one of these could be considered a grand gesture for those who know me. (Surely I’ve gone days without a shower, let alone painting my toes…heels barely know me.)
I came downstairs, hungry for lunch and realized I have nowhere to go.
I had a lunch date with my husband, who just returned (again), but he was caught at work; not his fault. And I knew this before I went to all the trouble, but I did it anyway.
And it’s a gorgeous day, so I wouldn’t mind (theoretically) going off to lunch on my own.
But, instead, I’d much rather pour a glass a wine; make a salad and stay here.
What is that? I wonder … as I listen to nothing and stare … is that PEACE?
It feels strange even to think it, let alone to write it.