Guiltless

I just woke up. What absolutely floors me is that at this time yesterday, I was walking around Arlington Cemetery with my older brother and parents. Now I’m home, sitting in bed and glancing out the window every time I finish a sentence. The tree that is usually the first around our house to turn is turning right now, and its magnificent orange-y gold color is shining into my bedroom.

Oh, did I mention that I’m in my bedroom? My lovely raspberry/orange/lime green/sky blue bedroom with the glow-in-the-dark flowers on the ceiling? And the two Paramore posters, Brand New magazine cut-out, Styx and Bob Seger posters? And all of my crazy word drawings on the walls?

I am now typing on my own little Netbook that I purchased with the money I made from doing what I love: writing. Who knew conducting interviews, whipping up words and doing a little research could be so rewarding? I sure as hell didn’t. And now I have another nice check to cash right next to me on my night stand from a different paper I write for that will go toward my Where The Wild Things Are ticket on Friday and other such necessities. And yes, they are necessities.

So there you have it. I spent quite a nice chunk of money on something I have been saving for. And, I don’t feel guilty in any way.

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