being sick has made me soft, it seems

This morning I woke up at seven and quickly realized that it was, in fact, only six. Damn daylight savings.

Any normal human being would relish this realization and turn over for another hour of uninterrupted sleep, especially if said human had a work-free day ahead of her (like I do). But being the always-early-to-rise kind of girl, I found myself predictably bright-eyed and alert upon my awakening, and eager to begin the obligation-less day ahead of me. Particularly because I discovered with my first conscious breath of the morning that I could, indeed, actually breathe, instead of struggling to inhale through the barrier of phlegm and sinus pressure I’ve been battling for five long days. Feeling mostly mucus-free was all the motivation I needed to get my recently-immobilized ass out of bed pretty much immediately. And while I still feel sort of snotty and stuffed up, it’s nothing compared to the complete congestion and chest-pain-causing cough I experienced the majority of yesterday. Cheers to that.

So, I was out of bed, ready to cease this only-slightly-sickly Sunday morning, but it was still barely 6 a.m., and it was dark outside, and nothing was open, and what the hell was I going to do now? A run, reading, some breakfast, a movie? None of these options sounded particularly appealing to me at the moment.

Usually when I’m faced with such a question and uncertainty about my next move, I fall unintentionally into a state of uber-contemplation, pondering anything and everything about my life all at once. Which is basically to say I think too damn much—and generally unproductively, managing to confuse myself more often than I’m able to gain clarity. It’s awesome, let me tell you.

But this morning was different. Instead of focusing my over-analytical mind on the most frustrating and unclear aspects of my current existence, on my own indecision and emotional murkiness, I was overwhelmed by the many ways in which I’m so undeservedly fortunate in my life. Because, seriously and in spite of all the obstacles of which I often complain, I’m a lucky, lucky lady these days.

For starters, my family is effing ridiculous in their awesomeness. Sometimes I wonder where I fit in. I mean, these are hilarious, intelligent, supportive, successful, creative, beautiful and astoundingly humble people. And I’m related to them. Which suggests that perhaps I exhibit a few of the same qualities—on my best days, at least.

I get a little choked up when I think about my parents, the way they love me and love each other and tolerate my sometimes overly-emotional phone calls in which I lament my many (and mostly asinine) problems, listening for far too long before reminding me I’m still young enough not to know what I want to be and free enough to date as many men as I choose without feeling guilty about doing so. They are my life coaches and love doctors, and I adore them for it.

And then there’s my sister, who can appreciate my So Many Men, So Little Time attitude, and even encourage me in my dating endeavors while secretly and simultaneously competing with me in my efforts. My sister, who is so obviously smarter than me (in life, in love, in essentially everything), who helps me relax about my life, my future, my up-until-recently indecision about grad school. She puts up with me like no one else will (or can), even if she doesn’t quite comprehend where I’m coming from—because, let’s face it, I’m frequently insane and consistently irrational. But, endearingly so, I’d like to believe. She’s my best friend, and I love her.

My luck this past week (and also in general) has much to do with this girl as well, and her much-anticipated move to my city. And though it’s only been eight days since she came here to stay, they’ve been eight of the best days I’ve had in recent months. The luxury of spending a single, solitary hour over lunch with my Frans (and more often than not, her Chris) is one I thought may never be mine. And now that it is, I’m at a loss to express my gratitude for its arrival. Time spent with these two is like a giant sight of relief. The hilarity that ensues, the hummus consumed, and the myriad photos (nothing is off limits) these crazy kids feel compelled to capture make for an always entertaining outing. Not to mention the complete comfort I feel and ability to be myself entirely when in their company. Snot, unshowered shame, stupid stories and all. I seriously—and perhaps to their dismay—can’t get enough.

I could go on and on with this tirade of good fortune and mush—talk about the friends I missed this weekend or my most amazing ‘Lil D (aka Eric) with whom the dancing doesn’t stop, revel in my weekends-off work schedule and my charmingly crazy coworkers, recount the kisses and the conversations and the probably ill-advised overnighters with cute (though often unavailable) boys—but I won’t. Because now it’s almost nine and breakfast awaits me. Though certainly not here. Because the grocery shopping, it has not happened in weeks.