Came home, went to bed because of throbbing head. The vibration of my cell phone on top of my alarm clock woke me up with quite a jolt at 8:12pm. I did not take note of the pm. Instead, I answered the phone to hear my dad’s joyous “Helloooo Nik!” while taking a peek through the blinds to the outside world. The light of sky fell somewhere between day and night, evening and morning and instantly my stomach dropped: I’m late for work! Late by 12 minutes! I thought my evening to be morning, thinking I had slept all the night through. I told my dad I had to go because I was late for work—he seemed confused, but I didn’t really notice. I was too busy jumping out of bed and bending over my dresser, trying to process business casual clothing choices. Could. Not. Process. I called my boss.

“I’m sorry I just woke up I overslept I’m so sorry I’m on my way in as soon as I get dressed I’m sorry.” How I greeted her.

My boss: “What?”

I repeated, this time slowly.

My boss: “Oh Nikki (enter much laughter here)—it’s 8 at night, not in the morning. Go back to sleep! You sound like you need it.”

I said something to the effect of “oops” and hung up, called my dad back. Brought him up to speed and we had a good laugh about it(followed by a wonderful conversation, as we have always conversed well).

So yes last night I did not touch my mental to-do list; instead, I stayed in bed until this morning fighting off a migraine. It’s gone, thank goodness. I try not to dwell much on the fact that I didn’t get anything done but get rid of the head pain, but such a thing requires all of my efforts and energy. I could have stayed awake and made myself sick, but I’m a little too old at this point to consistently resist what my body is screaming at me.

The mornings are becoming my favorite again. It’s a little difficult in winter—the rising, the scoot out of warm cocoon blankets into the dark and shiver of room. Click goes the lamplight, shuffle into sock-monkey slippers that have seen better days. The sky is light when I leave now. It’s a tiny detail to the A.M., but one that makes all the difference. This is my third day biking into work for the week and today I remembered to bring my lock keys thank goodness. I tied a pink zebra print scarf around my head to shield the ears from the cold—going downhill into town I knew it would be a little brisk. 43 degrees this morning, not bad for a short commute to the office. I’m still missing my ipod and the encouragement of music in my ears while spinning the wheels but it’s nice to fall out of habit and into a bit of the unusual. More often than not I listen to music while I ride(at a low volume, of course; I know better than to be rocking out and riding), but my charger has been MIA and so I’ve had to go without. This has forced me to sing little songs in my head as I ride, which for me is just hilarious—I wish I could offer you a free pass into my cerebellum for moments such as this. Whatever song I am amusing myself with will never finish, and will probably skip—first verse and chorus over and over, or spliced up with another song from the other end of the spectrum. Like “Around the Way Girl” by LL Cool J mingled with “Us” by Regina Spektor, perhaps an injected bridge of “Burndt Jamb” by Weezer. It all depends. I’m so happy, ready and willing, to constantly entertain myself.

8 more days, just one over a week and I will be home to see my family. It’s been way too long—I’m even looking forward to taking the Greyhound, and the adventures upon it that I am certain to have. My sister is turning 30 on the same day that my niece Maddie is turning 1, so this is a mighty big trip since we will be celebrating both over the weekend. As time passes, I enjoy revisiting my hometown as well—Trenton is always changing and growing, busting the seams so to speak. The subdivisions are a bit depressing to me—they pop up so quick, these little communities of playing card houses, homogenous right down to the size of shrubs in the front yards. The little Trenton I remember is still thriving, but awkwardly. Most of the cornfields are construction now, or already finished little plazas of miscellaneous. The high school/middle school remains surrounded by the cornfields though, thankfully. Needless to say, it is always bittersweet to see such growth, such change—to stare too long at the places where “things happened” in my life. Like the parking lot holding the ghost of bike wrecks and middle school boyfriends and birthdays; the strip of land behind apartments where we played football and waffle ball until it grew too dark to see. I like to borrow my dad’s car and drive to the different places, cut the engine and just sit there trying to remember. Smiling or tearing up, whatever it takes. I drive past the first house I ever remember living in—how the dead end is now a road to somewhere opened up; how the colors of shutters have changed and the neighbor’s houses as well are not the same. I drive by and think of those long ago limitations from childhood—how I couldn’t ride my bike off the block. I try to take in as much as I can. I stand as me now in the places of me then and feel an unreal sort of fortunate; sometimes I get so caught up in this present day, in this particular city knowing these particular things—I like to remind myself that this is where I came from. The small town will always be within me, and the memories are mine, and if I do not take the minutes to hold them, appreciate and apply them, then it will never be done.

Perhaps more later. I’m feeling exquisitely thoughtful today. In an out loud way.