Fog hung low over Virginia, swathing the sleepy Sunday in a soft chill heralding autumn’s swift arrival. I sat in Starbucks with a pumpkin spice latte and the knowledge that soon crisp leaves, sweaters, hot coffee warming my hands, soft oranges and reds and browns, and cool winds would be upon me. Then, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and finally, my favorite season–winter.
Early mornings have never been my favorite–I am a fan of sleep, and of sleeping in–but sometimes, I can get behind their aesthetic. Today’s foggy overcast skies and soft chill, the sort of muffled grogginess the world seems to take on in this sort of weather, is perfect for my mood.
I was supposed to go into work, supposed to double-up a shift, but it turned out that wasn’t needed. Now the day stretches out before me, and I find myself somewhat overwhelmed by the possibilities.
In a little over a week, I’m moving.
Into my own apartment, full of hardwood floors and plenty of windows to let in natural light, sporting my own furniture, my own room, my own kitchen–all mine. For the first time in my life, I will be living alone. Just me and my sweet cat, Skully. I’ve already bought some things–a bed, mattress, sheets, comforter, a side table for the bedroom, etc.–but there is so much more to do. So much more to pack before move-in.
So today, with the absence of morning work hours, I will run errands, shop for my apartment while clutching my pumpkin spice latte, pick out colors I like–drapes and toothbrush holders and towels–and not have to worry about another’s input in their placement. By the time I move in, autumn will be beckoning from the horizon, and I will leave each day wearing sweaters and scarves and crunching through fallen leaves.
The idea of living by myself is simultaneously scary and exciting, and all I can think of is Bastille’s Sleepsong, and the lyrics below:
“Oh, you go to sleep on your own,
and you wake each day with your thoughts,
and it scares you being alone–
it’s a last resort.”
Technically, this was a last resort. But the more I think about it, the more I’m looking forward to coming home from late nights at work to a quiet apartment, no one but my cat greeting me (probably to ask for food), and no expectations or judgement should I choose to stay up late playing video games. No expectations or judgement should I sleep in until three in the afternoon on my days off. No expectations or judgement should I wander around my apartment in nothing but an oversized t-shirt.
Nothing but me, my cat, and the sound of my coffeemaker percolating on a chilly autumn morning.