I smell like the campfire. My teeth still need brushing, and changing clothes is in order, but after that, I’m collapsing into bed—and having a hard, hard sleep.
This is the delirious kind of tired—the Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! swirly-head, little-white-birdies-circling kind. Reflecting now, it’s been a good, satisfying day. But at the start, the perfectionist cook in me felt daunted by catering for twenty. Especially when a dish got a little overcooked or someone didn’t take a spoonful of beans. Doesn’t everyone know I counted bodies, and measured portions, and the math needs them to step up to the buffet?
I’d imagined post-dinner chats would ease everyone into slipping off to their nighttime routines. But the mere mention of a fire changed that.
“There’s a pile out there that needs burning,” someone said.
“I could bring the chairs over,” another offered.
And just like that, six of us were gathered around the flames, warming our hands, guessing planets, tracking planes, calling out inbound and outbound flights, cutting branches, and roasting marshmallows.
I’ll probably wake up still smelling like smoke. And the fact that tomorrow is a gloriously empty white space on both my physical planner and my Google Calendar means I just might force myself to sleep in. Then I’ll wash my sheets. And maybe even take a nap.
Who knows—the world is my oyster.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 