The weekend was, as my weekends typically are, quiet. I had big plans to sleep late, to lounge around the house, and to do yoga, and while I managed to do the second and third thing rather well that first one never really set in. I couldn’t sleep past 8:30 to save my life and when I rolled out of bed each morning, the first thing I did was surprise myself by doing work. Laundry, washing dishes, making vitaminas, rolling out the yoga mat to do some sun salutations. Goodness. I don’t know who I was this weekend but by the end of it I was wide awake. Late last night my body was so used to moving around and being busy that it decided at 11pm that it didn’t want to go to sleep and so it stayed up until well past midnight while I tried with all my might to tell it to go to bed. Reluctantly it drifted off to sleep, but like an infant who hasn’t settled into sleeping through the night, woke up again just four hours later. And it was a weird waking up: sudden, in mid-thought. In mid-coherent-conscious thought. Very strange. I woke up all nervous about leaving Brazil, going through a list of things I need to take care of but have absolutely no control over—-the thought of which I guess is enough to make me stress out. So I did some deep breathing as if it would lull me back to sleep, and when that didn’t work I tried counting my breaths which only frustrated me because I frequently forgot which number I was on and then would have to start all over, at which point I lost all motivation to start over because the more I needed to start over the less I was feeling sleepy.
In the end, I must have drifted back to sleep because I remember hitting the snooze button exactly five times (read: I got to sleep in 50 minutes) and then ran around the house trying to get myself ready and be presentable at work. (Why is it the best sleep comes in between hits of the snooze button? It’s like all the other hours of lying in bed with my eyes closed and all R.E.M’ed out was just a warm up for the thirty to fifty spazzy minutes just before I have to get out of bed and be active for thirteen hours. No, you know what it’s like, it’s like my body is just taking advantage of sleep all through the night, like it’ll be there forever. But when that god awful Brazilian polka accordion shit comes on, it is back to reality and then I am so, so sad and living those next fifty minutes in regret. Like my body is all full of sweet talk, “Okay, okay, Sleep, I’m SORRY. I’ll never do that again. I love you, I love you, I promise you You’re the only one for me, just let me come back just TEN more minutes.”)
And the price to pay for all that sweet talk? The bags beneath my eyes. Sweet LordHaveMercyOnMyFace. Every morning I wake up and I am fifty three. By 9:30 I’m down a decade and usually for about forty-five minutes after lunch I’m my own age. But come mid afternoon and the years start showing up again, until Yoga in the afternoon when it’s okay to look disheveled as long as I’ve been paying attention to my breathing and have inverted myself once or twice.
All this concern about aging is for a reason, of course. My birthday is fast approaching. In less than a month, I’ll be ending what my friend Cat Head has deemed “the hottest year of my life.” I’ll turn 29 and according to Cat Head, it’s all down hill and desperation from there. Little does he know, I am SO excited for 30 I just want to skip over 29 and get on with the party. In Vermont, I got my driver’s permit when I was 15 and there was excitement about turning 15 but only because it meant I was that much closer to turning 16 when I could drive without my parents in the car. 29 is like 15: exciting by association but on its own nothing fancy. Also, in Vermont, and also when I was in high school, I wanted FOREVER to be a Junior. There was something young-but-old about being a Junior and something full of status and independence and hot boyfriends. I feel that way about turning 30. Like it’s the Junior year of my adult life. But 29? I’m still a sophomore. And that sucks so much, especially when “sophomore” comes from the Greek words “wise” and “fool.” I like the “wise” part, but certainly hope “fool” has nothing to do with how my 29th year will turn out.
Recapping this post, just in case you’re thinking, “What the hell are you talking about?”
1) The weekend was quiet.
2) I did work.
3) I yoga’d.
4) I did not sleep well.
5) Bags under my eyes.
6) Aging: voluntarily and involuntarily
7) My birthday is April 22.
8 ) I have nothing to offer as far as Brazil goes, but will say that these people go absolutely NUTS over these huge chocolate eggs that hang all over every single store anywhere in this country. They’re expensive, too! I don’t know what happens to all these chocolate eggs—surely it is IMPOSSIBLE to think that they actually get eaten. Last year I received two or three of them and thank God Dennis was here to eat them because I’m sure they’d still be in my fridge right now. I write this today because this afternoon I went into a store and I could suddenly SEE, the eggs (hung from the ceiling of EVERY STORE IN CREATION) had disappeared and I’m sure are now in every single apartment in Campinas. Except for mine.
9) I lied about the chocolate egg thing. I would have totally eaten them by myself, without Dennis’ help, and it would have taken me a week.